


shining as we fade into the night

by midnights



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Battle, Bottom Louis, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasy, Fights, Gay, Gay Sex, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Kings & Queens, M/M, POV Multiple, Prince Louis, Princes & Princesses, Riding, Rimming, Sex, Sidekick Zayn, Swordfighting, Top Harry, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/pseuds/midnights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is (almost) king, Zayn likes to look at maps, and Harry appears out of nowhere.</p><p>a game of thrones au</p>
            </blockquote>





	shining as we fade into the night

**Author's Note:**

> just a few things to remember while reading: this fic is told from louis, harry, and zayn's points of view, though not at the same time. every time a POV switches there is a ∆ to show it. also, because there are POV changes, some scenes are depicted more than once from a different character's POV. all the armor mentioned in this fic is leather, that's how it's dyed different colors (i know they use metal armor, i just thought colored armor was cool, no?).  
> come see me on [tumblr](http://ravenclawmalik.tumblr.com/) !  
>  *title is from 5 Seconds of Summer's 'Beside You'
> 
> **disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. though it is based on the public personalities of the people in this fic, i dont intend to imply anything about their behavior off-screen.**
> 
> **another thing: this was written before i actually watched game of thrones, so i did a lot of research and tried to do it justice. at first i kept it as a game of thrones au, but then realized that mostly everything in it was wrong and had to change it. since then, i have watched almost all of game of thrones and have converted it back into a game of thrones au.**
> 
>  
> 
> **note that this is almost entirely based off of the world of the song of ice and fire novels/game of thrones tv show, so credit where credit is largely due**

Louis was halfway out the window when he heard his name.

Looking back, Louis saw his younger sister, Charlotte, looking at him with the big, bright, sad eyes only an seven year old could see someone with.

"Hello, Lottie. What're you doing up, little one?" He asked, climbing back through his window. He padded over to his sister on silent feet, cupping her cheeks between his hands.

"You're going to see that boy again, aren't you?" She asked, smiling. Louis saw that she'd lost yet another tooth.

Louis gaped at her. "What boy?" He asked innocently. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him.

"That one with the pretty eyes and curly hair, Lou." Charlotte rolled her eyes. "The one you've been kissing." She whispered.

Charlotte was always too smart for her own good. With a sigh, Louis gave in. "Yes, Lottie. I'm going to see him."

"Don't get caught." Charlotte murmured, wiggling out of Louis's grasp. And then she was gone, slipping into the corridor and back to her room.

Louis shut his bedroom door and made sure he locked it this time, then shimmied out the window. His boy was waiting for him on the ground, tossing roses at him as he climbed down the vines that had crept up the castle walls. The second his feet touched the soft grass, a pair of strong arms were being wrapped around his waist, and a kiss was being pressed to his neck. A soft sigh passed through Louis's lips, and he leaned into Harry's chest.

Harry and his sister were staying in King's Landing for just one week, and Harry wouldn't tell Louis why. Though he was young, Louis could easily determine that Harry was no threat to the kingdom. They'd gotten together the night they met, sweaty skin sliding together on the dimly lit four poster in Louis's bedroom.

“You smell divine,” Harry whispered, lips grazing Louis's ear.

“Just had a bath.” Louis twisted around in Harry’s arms and surged forward. He sucked Harry's bottom lip between his own and bit down on it lightly, gasping as Harry pulled him in tighter against his body.

Harry eyed Louis hungrily. “You’ll need another one.”

Louis yelped as he was lifted off the ground and into Harry’s strong arms. The city was silent as they walked through it, passing shops, and houses, and market stalls. Inside a cottage that definitely didn't belong to Harry, Louis was lain on a four poster bed, and was instructed to wait while Harry pulled all the curtains shut. His boots made soft thumps on the wood floor while he strode from window to window.

"Come back here, I don't care if someone wakes up and sees." Louis whined, undoing his boots. He pulled them off slowly, waiting for Harry to return to bed.

Harry chuckled, and slipped off his boots. "And what would they say when they saw their prince, only _eighteen_ , already with a lover?"

"I don't _care_ ," He pulled off his socks and tossed them beside the bed.

Finally, Harry climbed into bed, settling himself between Louis's legs. He propped himself up on his elbows and forearms, lips meeting Louis's. Louis reached up to wrap his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him closer. The taste of wine still lingered on Harry's tongue, and Louis couldn't help but wonder if he'd stolen it. One of Louis's hands slid up Harry's back to tangle in his hair, and he pulled lightly as Harry bit down gently on his lower lip.

With shaky hands, Louis fumbled to untie the laces on Harry's shirt. Harry pulled it over his head, tossing it aside. Louis laughed breathlessly as it landed on the table. Harry's lips ghosted over the line of Louis's jaw, and Louis shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on his skin. Gently, Harry nipped at Louis's neck, while nimble fingers untied Louis's shirt. Though he wasn't exactly as graceful as he would've liked to be, Louis was able to wiggle out of his shirt and toss it aside before Harry attached his lips to his collarbones.

"You're so beautiful," Harry murmured into his skin.

Louis tangled his fingers in Harry's hair, his breathing a bit shaky as Harry's lips traced down to his stomach. After pressing a kiss to Louis's tummy, Harry moved down to his cock, which was straining against the fabric of his trousers. Louis shuddered as Harry mouthed over his clothed cock, wetting the material. His hips give an involuntary jerk towards Harry's mouth, and Harry chuckled, filters slipping under the waistband of his trousers.

Louis groaned as Harry tugged his trousers down to his knees, and his hard cock sprung up and rested against his hip. Harry ran his large hands up and down Louis's thighs, while Louis lazily stroked his cock. With a smirk, Harry batted his hands away.

"Not yet, babe." In one swift motion, Harry straddled Louis's hips and pinned his wrists just above his head.

Louis wrapped his legs around Harry's, shoving their hips together. Harry ground his hips down, and Louis bit back a moan as their cocks slid together. Running out of patience, Louis pulled at Harry’s trousers until he got the message and took them off. Harry ran his hands over Louis's torso, pausing only to pinch one of his nipples and making him gasp.

“Get on with it,” Louis breathed.

“Mouth or fingers, Your Highness?” Harry asked, a smirk evident on his lips, already red and swollen.

“Mouth, mouth, just get over here and _kiss_ me-”

Still smirking, Harry cut Louis's impatient pleas off with an open-mouthed kiss, his hands moving to cup Louis's jaw. Louis pulled Harry’s hips down so he could rub their cocks together, moaning into Harry’s mouth at the friction. Breaking the kiss, Harry slithered down Louis's body and sat back on his haunches.

“Turn over,” He instructed. Louis felt drunk with lust, like everything was moving slower and slower with every second. Turning over, Louis rested his head on his hands. “Spread your legs.”

Louis did as he asked, giving a sharp intake of breath as Harry kneaded one of his cheeks with a large hand. Harry leaned in and blew warm air on Louis's hole, making him gasp and jerk towards Harry’s touch. Flattening his tongue, Harry licked a broad stripe from Louis's balls, all the way up to where the curve of his arse started. Louis's breath hitched, and he grabbed a fistful of sheets in each hand.

Harry pressed sloppy, sucking kisses to Louis's quivering hole, then kissed the insides of his thighs. Louis swallowed back a whimper as Harry licked over his hole again, spreading his cheeks with both hands. The air in the room felt heavy and hot with arousal; Louis could already feel the sheen of sweat forming over his back. When Harry pointed his tongue and prodded at Louis's hole, Louis gave up all hopes at trying to be quiet and moaned, desperate and loud and sounding drunk with lust.

“ _Ooh_ ,” Louis gasped. “Fuck.”

Harry groaned into his skin, pushing his tongue further inside and messily rubbing his lips around Louis's hole. Louis went lax on the bed, knuckles turning white from his grip on the sheets. Drawing his tongue out, Harry pressed another kiss to Louis's hole and then wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him onto his knees, his middle and pointer fingers teasing around Louis's lips.

“Suck.” He instructed.

Louis did so obediently, drawing Harry’s long fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around them. He reached back to tug at Harry’s hair, and Harry kissed the back of his head. When Harry deemed his fingers slick enough, he pulled them out of Louis's mouth and let Louis fall onto the pillows again. Licking around Louis's hole, Harry gently prodded the tip of his finger inside. Louis let out a breathy whimper, nodding desperately for Harry to keep going. Pushing his finger in up to the knuckle, Harry licked around the digit, hoping to make it easier to slide in and out.

“G- _God_ ,” Louis huffed.

Harry kissed the small of Louis's back, twisting his finger as he slid it in and out of Louis's hole. Searching for friction, Louis rutted into the sheets, his cock rubbing against the fabric and giving him goosebumps. Harry chuckled and pushed his hips down with his free hand.

“Easy there, babe. Don’t wanna finish too fast, do we?” Louis could almost hear the smirk on Harry’s lips.

Louis began to say something, but Harry slipped another finger alongside the first, and Louis had to take a moment to breathe. “I hate you,” He murmured when his breathing returned to normal.

Harry laughed, loud and genuine and beautiful. “And I love you, Louis.”

Louis had to refrain from coming right then and there, with just two fingers inside him and five words that hung heavily in the air.

“Don’t say things like that, goodness, Harry.” He panted. “You almost made me come.”

“Is that the effect I have on you?” Harry purred, running a hand up Louis's spine.

Louis exhaled sharply. “Even if it was, you know I’d never admit it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Harry chuckled.

Harry slipped a third finger inside, and Louis's jaw dropped open.

“ _Oh_ ,” He breathed, his back arching.

Crooking his fingers, Harry stroked over Louis's prostate, making him moan. Louis pushed back against his fingers, rising up to rest his body on his forearms. After a moment, Harry pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the blankets, then stood. Louis laid on the pillows as he rummaged around for something (presumably oil or something of the like to lessen the burn), but he didn’t bother looking.

When Harry returned, he coated his cock in whatever lubricant he’d brought, and gripped Louis's hips. Louis rose back up onto his hands, crying out as Harry pushed inside. He was still sore from the escapades of the previous night, but Louis had always enjoyed the burn after a particularly adventurous evening. Harry drew his cock out teasingly slow, before slamming back in. Louis jerked forward, groaning. Pushing in again, Harry splayed his hand over Louis's back.

“ _Oh_ ,” Louis's eyes scrunched together, his hole clenching involuntarily around Harry’s cock.

Holding Louis's hips tightly, Harry built up a rhythm that had Louis seeing stars. Louis's arms began to shake as Harry pounded into him, eventually giving out completely. He collapsed into the pillows, hands fisting in the sheets again. Harry drew out, his hands gently around Louis's waist.

"I want you to ride me," He breathed, flipping them over.

Louis straddled Harry's hips, and leaned down to press his lips to Harry's. He straightened up, reaching behind him to take a hold of Harry's cock. Lining it up with his hole, Louis sank down, letting a whimper pass through his lips. When his hips were flush with Harry's, Louis splayed his hands over Harry's chest, slowly moving his hips and becoming used to the new position. Harry's hands wandered over Louis's thighs, and he groaned as Louis began to build up a rhythm.

" _God_ , Louis, oh my-" Harry groaned once more.

Slowing the movements of his hips, Louis leaned down and took Harry's bottom lip between his teeth. He bit down gently, and Harry began doing some of the work, fucking his hips into Louis's arse at a slow pace. Louis traced the lines of Harry's lips with his tongue, breathing shaky against his lips as Harry fucked into him. Louis fucked his tongue into Harry's mouth, pressing their foreheads together.

Sitting up, Louis leaned back on his haunches, bracing his hands on Harry's thighs. He rolled his hips, relishing the delicious feeling of Harry's cock brushing his prostate. Harry's hands slid up and down Louis's sides, but he didn't take his eyes off Louis's. Reaching out, Louis grabbed Harry's hand and laced their fingers together. Harry kissed the back of Louis's hand. Louis's mouth fell open as Harry chased his hips with his own, and he leaned forward a bit to place guys hands over Harry's chest. Louis's breathing came in short, uneven bursts, like constant gasps every time he inhaled.

Moving so he was squatting over Harry with his feet by his hips, Louis began to bounce over Harry's cock. Harry jerked his hips up to meet him every time he came down, and together they built up a rhythm.

" _Fuck_ ," Louis breathed. "Oh, _God_."

"Lou, oh my God," Harry panted.

His large hands held Louis's waist gently, helping him up and down; he could feel his thighs shaking already. Louis let out a whimper, pressing his forehead to Harry's. Harry's lips were inches from his. Breathing shakily, Louis lowered himself to his knees again. He was shaking too hard to ride Harry like that. Arching his back, Louis let Harry fuck into him relentlessly, his fingers digging into Louis's hips.

Every time Harry's cock slammed inside Louis, it hit his prostate dead on. Little whimpers and moans passed through Louis's lips with every thrust of Harry's hips, and it was all he could do to hold on as Harry pounded into him. Harry kneaded Louis's arse with his hands, drawing them apart as his hips snapped up. Louis leaned forward to catch his lips in another kiss. Harry sucked Louis's tongue through his lips, and Louis moaned into his mouth, eyes scrunching shut.

Since he truly no longer had the strength to ride Harry (also his legs were shaking too much), Louis kept his weight on his knees and let Harry do the work. He reached down to stroke his cock with a shaking hand, but Harry batted it away to do it himself. Louis could feel his orgasm curling low in his stomach. So could Harry, apparently, because he pulled his hand away and it returned to Louis's arse.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Harry-" Louis cried out, eyebrows knitting together.

Harry groaned, fingers digging into Louis's arse. “Almost there?”

“Yes- oh, _God_ ,” Louis breathed.

Harry slowed the movements of his hips and sat up, wrapping his arms around Louis's waist. Louis's legs curled instinctively around Harry, and his hands went to his hair. Slowly, Louis moved his hips in little circles. His cock dragged on Harry’s abdomen every time he moved, drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm. Harry came first, emptying into Louis and going still underneath him.

The feeling of Harry’s cock pulsing inside Louis was enough to have him coming between their torsos with a shout. He raked his nails down Harry’s back, dissolving into pure pleasure. Time seemed to stop as Louis's orgasm rolled through him like shockwaves of electricity, and it was a while until he could breathe again. As Harry pulled his cock out of Louis's hole, which was slick with come, Louis winced, both from oversensitivity and the filthy feeling of Harry’s come dripping out of his hole. Harry guided them to lay down slowly, pressing a kiss to Louis's forehead.

Heart still racing, Louis listened to the sound of Harry’s breathing, still uneven from his orgasm.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Louis whispered, pressing his forehead to Harry’s.

Harry smiled sadly. “Don’t think of that now. We have hours until the sun rises, my love.”

“Hours to be spent wishing you didn’t have to leave.” Louis huffed, frowning.

“Louis,” Harry groaned, laughing.

Louis remained in Harry’s arms until the sun began to rise low in the west, painting the sky with streaks of blue and pink and orange. Together, Louis and Harry pulled on their clothes, sharing more than a few kisses in between. Harry led Louis to his horse, and pulled him in for a final kiss before leaving. It was slow and sensual and sad. With a kiss pressed to Louis's temple, Harry climbed onto his horse, and reached down to take his hand.

“I’ll come back, Louis. I swear it.” Harry said slowly.

“I’ll wait for you.” Louis promised.

Harry chuckled. “I thought you’d say that.”

“I’ll wait for you every night that turns into day, every minute of every hour, when the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, when the stars light the sky with their beauty. You are my sun and stars, my only love.” Louis said wistfully, pressing a kiss to Harry’s hand.

“I’ll see you soon, my love.”

 

**Four Years Later**

 

Louis could train like this for hours, dancing around the training ring with this new trainer, parrying his sword with his own blade and fighting to get the upper hand, working up a sweat under his armor.

Louis has always been faster than the trainers that come to hone his skills, and usually he can gain the superiority in a training match within seconds. But this is a new trainer. Louis's seen him around the city, and he knows he’s been messing about with Zayn. He’s probably around the same age as Louis, though taller, and more broad than him. Being smaller, though, Louis finds it easy to duck around the his trainer’s blade and get behind him. He must have underestimated his trainer’s wit, though, because the second Louis lets his guard down, he’s there, the butt of his sword jamming into the back of Louis's knee and making him fall. His trainer presses the blade to his neck, and Louis lays there, panting, until his trainer smiles and pulls it away. He slides it into its sheath, and holds out a hand for Louis. Louis takes it, and stands, brushing the dirt off his armor.

“Careful, Liam, he’s fragile.” Zayn calls, not looking up from the map he’s studying.

“I’ll just ignore you, then!” Louis calls. “Liam, eh? Prince Louis the Second, of House Tomlinson, at your service.” Louis gives a dramatic little bow.

Liam laughs. “I believe it’s supposed to be the other way around, Sir.”

Louis waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling his eyes. “Bow all you’d like, I’ll be preparing for our next bout.”

“You’re still out of breath, Sir.” Liam points out, as if Louis wasn’t already sure of this.

“That I am, Liam. That I am.” Louis nods, motioning for one of the servants to bring them water.

As Louis drinks, he catches sight of a familiar blond head of hair as it darts behind a stack of crates. “What’re you doing lurking about, Sister?” Louis calls, laughing. “Someone will think you’re up to something.”

Perrie comes out from behind the crates, a smirk evident on her lips. Her hair is done up in an elaborate braid, and there are small flowers woven into it. Louis knows why she's here. One, because she's only allowed to train with Louis, and two, because she seems to have a bit of a crush on Niall, Zayn's friend and assistant (Zayn is the kingdom’s Strategic War Pattern Planner, one of the youngest there's been in the kingdom of Westeros for hundreds of years). Zayn looks up and sees Perrie, then elbows Niall's side when he sees her. Flushing pink, Niall looks up and gives her a small wave.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly at his friends and nimbly climbs over the waist-high barrier that marks the training circle. He holds a hand out for Perrie; she takes it, and he leads her over to the training circle. Both of them climb over, and Louis pulls his sword out of its sheath. He hands it to his sister.

"Liam, you may take a break, I'll take my sister." Louis says, drawing his dagger.

"If mother sees we'll both be beaten." Perrie hisses.

Louis straightens up again, rolling his eyes. "Both of us are legal adults in the kingdom now. Mother can't do a thing."

That isn't entirely true, but Louis likes training with Perrie. The fact that his mother doesn’t like having her princess in a training ring doesn’t often deter him from sparring with her. Only two of Louis's previous trainers have been women, and he really enjoyed working with each of them. They were faster than the men he'd trained with, and proved to be harder for him to keep up with. That's probably why he takes so much pride in being the fastest in the kingdom (perhaps the fastest in all Seven Kingdoms, he wouldn't know). Perrie is fast too, and it's always good fun to have a little bout with his younger sister.

Since Perrie is using a sword, and Louis a dagger, it's easier for him to get in closer and strike (none of their blows are aiming to hurt anyone, of course). Louis lets Perrie gain the upper hand for a few moments, then uses the butt of his dagger to slam into her sword handle and cause her to drop it. Then, he darts behind her and puts the blade of his dagger at her neck.

“Alright, alright, stop showing off, brother.” Perrie chuckles, carefully pushing the blade away from her throat.

Louis relents, panting still. He slips his dagger into its sheath and does the same with his sword, then helps Perrie out of the training ring.

“Happy now?” He asks, sitting on the cushion with Zayn.

Perrie rolls her eyes at him. “Yes.”

“Good.” Louis nods. “Now go do something I won’t get in trouble for allowing you to do.”

“What, like picking flowers with Lottie? Oh, what fun. I love hearing her talk about how attractive your friends are.” Perrie huffs.

“You say that like I don’t hear you talking to your friends in your room- it’s directly next to mine, don’t pretend to be surprised- about Niall’s looks.” Louis deadpans.

Perrie flushes pink, glancing over at Niall, who gives her a kind smile. “Oh, Louis. You're just always right, aren't you, My Lord?" She curtsies, low and dramatic.

"Well, don't go acting like it now. You've spent nineteen years telling me I'm wrong." Louis winks at her.

With a huff, Perrie stalks off. Louis looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows.

Niall shakes his head. "I'm with someone at the moment." He gives an apologetic smile.

"Oh?" Zayn looks up, grinning.

"If you must know, her name's Gemma." Niall blushes, and Liam and Louis laugh.

"And you'd rather be with her than with the princess?" Liam asks.

Niall nods, flushing harder. "Yes."

"That's sweet." Liam smiles at him.

"Are we allowed to meet her?" Zayn asks.

"Eventually." Niall says, tugging nervously at his shirt.

A squire rushes in, looking a bit afraid of Louis and his friends. He can't be older than twelve. "You mother would like to see you, Your Highness." He bows, and Louis stands.

"Thank you, little one. I'll go there now." Louis smiles brightly at him.

The squire scuttles off, and Louis looks back at his friends and sniggers. Louis takes off his armor, handing it to a servant. He instructs her to take it to his room. Though his mother often did otherwise, Louis always made a point to be kind to all of the servants. They work hard enough already, and Louis didn't need to add to their stress.

"But he's so young!" Liam frowns. "What's he doing already working?"

Louis brushes the hay off his bum and looks at Liam. "Mother started taking in the children on the streets. They get rooms and food, and even a small pay."

"Well, that's nice of her." Zayn nods. "You should go meet her, though. You know how the Queen gets."

"I'll be back for another round later, Liam." Louis pats Liam's head before making his way to find his mother.

Louis takes the stairs two at a time, heading for his mother's rose garden. He finds her sitting on a bench by one of the fountains, taking to Felicite with Louis's youngest sister, Doris, nestled in her arms. Louis leans down to kiss Johannah's cheek, and scoops Doris into his arms. She looks up at him with big, blue eyes, reaching up towards his face. As the oldest of eight children, Louis has had his fair share of caring for babies.

"Hello, baby girl. How's my favorite sister?" Louis coos.

" _Lou_." Felicite glares at Louis, and he laughs.

Johannah stands, picking a rose from the vine. "Good morning, darling. How did your training go?"

Louis gives Doris his finger, and she curls her tiny hand around it. "It went well, the new trainer is great. We should've hired him sooner, he's one of Zayn's friends."

" _Friend_ isn't exactly the word I'd use." Felicite mutters under her breath.

"Fizz." Louis glares at her.

"Louis, you know I don't like it when you call her that." His mother says sternly.

Louis laughs brightly. "You called for me, Mother? Did you need something, or did you just want to see your favorite child?"

"You know spring is coming."

"I wouldn't be wearing this little clothing if it was still winter." Louis rolls his eyes, bouncing up and down, making Doris giggle and gurgle happily.

Johannah ignores his sarcasm. "We're going to have a celebration, to commemorate the end of winter. Tomorrow night."

"We have one every change of season." Louis's eyebrows furrow.

"And I think it's time for you to bring a woman as your partner."

Louis looks over at Felicite to make sure she didn't hear. She's wandered off to the irises, picking the flowers from their stems and braiding them into her hair. Even when Louis was young, he didn't like women. He simply wasn't attracted to them. He was fourteen when he realized he liked other boys. He'd walked in on his uncle in bed with one of the servants, and it all clicked into place. Of course, that had earned him a slap from his uncle, but Louis didn't mind much. His father was fond of using a belt to punish Louis when he got out of line, which happened more than Louis would like to admit.

With King Daniel came a secret considered far worse than being attracted to men. Johannah doesn’t even know that Louis knows. Louis's father, a man named Troy, had been having an affair with his mother when she became pregnant. Daniel doesn’t even know, and Louis is sure his mother would pay the price if he found out. The only other person who knows is Zayn; Louis told him the night after Harry left. Louis keeps that secret locked away deep inside the darkest pits of his mind.

"Mother, I don't think it's necessary to do that just yet-"

"You are twenty two years of age, you'll do just fine." Johannah waves a dismissive hand at him.

Louis sighs, frustrated. "I don't want-"

"No arguing, please. I'll find you someone to present yourself with, and you can bring her to our little party. Now, if you'll be so kind as to take Doris to bed, I have a meeting to attend." Johannah stalks off, her long skirts trailing behind her.

Louis walks over to Felicite, still bouncing Doris in his arms. His sister doesn't look up from her flowers. "She's already found someone, you know."

"Oh, god. Who would that be?" Louis groans.

"Eleanor of House Calder." Fèlicitè says.

Louis rolls his eyes. "She could've picked one of Perrie's friends. I like them better."

Felicite tosses an iris at him. "None of them are fit to be queen."

"And neither is this Eleanor."

"And yet, it seems she shall be yours." Felicite points out.

"I have to go, I have a session to finish." Louis huffs.

Felicite holds her arms out for Doris, and Louis places the baby in her arms gently. He makes his way back to the training ring, still huffing about his mother's rushed decision-making. Liam notices his stress, and sits him down on the cushions again to talk.

Every so often, Louis wishes he wasn't royalty. He wouldn't have to care about some false image of his family's, he wouldn't be required to hide who he is in order to keep the family name. Everything would be easier. He could have a love like Zayn and Liam's- not secret, but not exactly public, either. Still, his only love has not yet returned. But as he sits watching Liam's fingers trace patterns on Zayn's thigh while he reads, Louis wishes for nothing more than to be a commoner.

"My mother has set up a partnership for me. With a woman." Louis says, frowning. He leans backwards, back hitting the wall.

Zayn closes his book and looks over at Louis. "And you didn't tell her?"

Louis snorts. "Do you know what she would've done? I'd be awarded with a beating."

"Who is it?" Liam asks, bringing Louis water. Louis takes a sip and passes it back to Liam to share.

"Lady Eleanor. Of House Calder." Louis wrinkles his nose.

"Well, it could be worse. I hear she's kind." Liam gives him a hopeful smile.

"I don't want to go with her." Louis groans, leaning into Zayn. "I want to go with Harry."

Zayn sighs, shifting so Louis's head is in his lap. "I don't think he's coming back, Lou."

"Harry? Harry who?" Niall appears in the archway.

"You wouldn't know him." Louis shakes his head.

"Mm." Niall shrugs.

"When is the celebration?" Liam asks.

Niall perks up at that. "Celebration?"

Louis sighs. "My mother is throwing a party to celebrate the end of this horrid winter."

"Are employees permitted to come?" Niall asks.

"Of course, Niall. We're royals, not jailkeepers." Louis rolls his eyes.

"Bring Gemma, and we can meet her properly." Zayn suggests.

Niall raises his eyebrows. "Her brother's returning from the north, can he come as well?"

"Bring the entirety of the King's court, I don't care." Louis says exasperatedly.

"Oh, they'll be there." Zayn says, straightening Louis's shirt. "Along with the rest of the damn kingdom."

"You think my father would allow commoners to come?" Louis laughs coldly. "He's a terrible king. Only cares about the wealthy ones."

"Louis." Zayn warns him. He's right, though. Anyone could be listening, the training ring is open to anyone in the castle.

With a sigh, Louis stands. "I'm going to have a bath."

All three boys stand and accompany Louis to the castle. Louis makes his way to the castle, passing by Perrie and her friends on the way. He'd much rather have been set up with Jade or Leigh-Anne, someone he knows well enough to be comfortable around. He's never met Eleanor though. She could be nice. When he reaches his room, Louis tells his friends they can leave him and has a servant fix him a bath.

He sinks under the warm water, fiddling with one of the rose petals the servant had sprinkled into the bath. Louis looks over at the servant now; he's sitting on the opposite side of the washroom, folding clothes for Louis to put on after. He's got kind brown eyes and black hair, and tanned skin that tells Louis he's not originally from King's Landing.

"Pardon." Louis sits up.

The servant's head snaps up. "Yes, My Lord?"

"What is your name?" Louis asks.

"Ryden, Sir. Ryden Pyke, of the Iron Islands.” He says quietly.

Louis cocks his head. “Why did you come here, then?”

“Oh. I-”

“My mistake, you don’t have to tell me if you do not wish to.” Louis corrects himself.

“It’s quite alright, Sir. My mother did not want a bastard in the house any longer, and I did not wish to stay somewhere I wasn't wanted.” He explains. “Here, I have friends, and a home, and a well-paying employment.”

“But not such a kind employer.” Louis raises an eyebrow.

Ryden's face pales. “Of course not, your-”

“I know what the workers in this house are paid, Ryden.” Louis smiles. “And it’s not a fair price. When I’m king, I shall be sure to treat servants as human beings, not as slaves like my father.”

“I hope you will, Sir.”

Louis sinks back under the water, trying to clear his head. Perhaps having to go to the celebration with a woman isn’t so terrible. After all, his mother didn’t say they’d be married any time soon, she only said he should present himself with a woman. On the upside chance that Eleanor is a nice girl, Louis tries to stay positive about it.

His resolve lasts all of six minutes, when his mind returns to thoughts of Harry.

It’s been four years, and Louis still thinks of Harry every day without fail. He hasn’t given up on Harry, not yet. He swore he’d come back, and Louis knows he will. And perhaps he’s gotten caught up at home, or perhaps his sister’s gotten sick and needs his help, or maybe he got a job offer that lasted longer than he thought it would’ve, but he’ll come back. It’s all Louis can hold on to anymore, just a sliver of hope that Harry hasn’t forgotten him. And if he has, and that thought terrifies Louis, and if he doesn’t come back and Louis finds someone else, he knows that no one will ever make him feel the way Harry did. No one will set his insides aflame with desire, light fires of want in his veins. And that thought terrifies Louis even more.

Louis stands and dries off, then gets dressed in the clothes Ryden brought him. When he’s clothed, Louis takes Ryden into the garden and sits him down, calling upon a servant to bring them lunch. He sends for Zayn and Niall as well.

“How old are you, Ryden of the Iron Islands?” Zayn asks, popping a grape in his mouth as he sits on the bench with Louis.

“I’m eighteen, Sir.” He says. “Not to be disrespectful, but why do you care, Your Highness?”

Louis laughs. “I like making friends. And for you, being friends with the future king will surely earn you a higher spot on the hierarchy here.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Ryden bows slightly, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Don’t bother bowing. I don’t give a damn either way.” Louis shrugs. “And you don’t have to call me Sir all the time.”

“Yes Si- oh.” Ryden laughs, cheeks flushing pink.

Louis smiles brightly at him. “Right, you may return to your duties now, young one.”

Ryden scurries off. Niall turns to Louis, narrowing his eyes at him. “Young one? We’re not the village elders, Lou. It’s only a difference of four years.”

“Four years is a long time.” Zayn smirks, looking pointedly at Louis, who shoves him playfully.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that Liam could train with me? You two have been lovers for- what? Two years?” Louis asks, ignoring Zayn’s last statement.

“A year and a half, actually. And he didn’t think he was qualified enough to train with the prince.” Zayn explains.

Louis frowns. “Am I really so intimidating? Honestly, Ryden over there looked like he was shaking at the sight of me. What am I going to do?”

“Fire him for not respecting you?” Niall raises his eyebrows, and shrinks under Zayn’s gaze. “What? His mother’s done it loads of times, I’ve seen it.”

“It’s not like you’re the most predictable among your siblings, is it?” Zayn points out.

“Oh, come off it, I didn’t sneak out that often.” Louis glares at him.

Zayn cocks his head. “You say that like you’re permitted to sneak out after dark now.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Is Liam going to accompany you to the celebration?”

Zayn nods. “I would’ve thought that to be obvious.”

Louis rolls his eyes and looks off to the west, where the sun has begun to paint streaks of pink and orange across the sky as it dips below the mountains.

“You two ought to go.” Louis yawns.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to ruin your preparation for your appearance with the Lady Eleanor, would we?” Niall smirks, and Louis pushes him off the bench and onto the stone pathway.

“We’ll be here tomorrow.” Zayn leaves him with a pat on the back.

Louis stands, walking the opposite way on the path. Even when he was young, Louis always loved the pink roses best. He remembers picking them from their stems as a young boy and presenting them to his mother, who was always stressed about his siblings. He also remembers Harry playfully throwing them at him on their last night together. Sighing, Louis plucks a rose from its stem and inhales its soft fragrance. He thinks of their last night together, of Harry's soft hands on his body and the words exchanged as night turned to day. And he sighs.

As Louis looks off to the waning sun again, he hears a sound. It's quiet, but definite. Years of training aids Louis in deducting that it came from ahead of him, past the trellis of red roses and further into the winding pathways of the garden, and into the darkness. The hairs on the back of Louis's neck stand up, and he reaches to his belt to pull out the dagger he keeps with him at all times. And then there's another noise, like a soft sigh.

Within the sigh, is an almost-silent vocalization.

And Louis knows who it is, he's sure of it, but the little voice in the back of his mind tells him it's just wishful thinking.

Louis hates that little voice.

He spends a while in the garden, smelling the flowers and wondering if he should give some to his mother for old time's sake. But mostly, he's just hoping to hear something else. Something to define what's really lurking in the bushes, something to prove that it isn't just a bunny eating all their pagoda flowers. But eventually it gets late, and Louis finds himself rapidly tiring. Almost in a daze, Louis makes his way back to the castle, where a servant who seems to be around his age accompanies him to his bedroom, then leaves him to sleep.

He doesn't sleep, though.

Louis opens his window all the way and sits on the cushion below it, head and arms rested on the windowsill. And he watches and waits. The only thing that he hears is something like a cloak flapping in the wind, and then all goes quiet again. After a while, Louis turns over on the cushion so his head is propped up on a pillow on the stone armrest and his back is on the cushion and his legs are on the other armrest and falls asleep.

Sunlight is beaming on Louis when he wakes up, stiff and sore. Louis stands and cracks his back, then shakes out his hair, which is getting long. He'll have to cut it soon. His door bursts open, and in come the twins, attacking Louis with vigorous hugs.

"Good morning Phoebe, good morning Daisy. How are my girls?" He asks, hugging them close.

Phoebe smiles up at him. "Mum had us bake cakes for the party. Blueberry and-"

"-Raspberry and strawberry and all sorts of cakes!" Daisy says excitedly.

"And are they good?" Louis asks, grinning.

Daisy looks offended. "Of course they're good! We made them-"

"-Didn't we?" Daisy finishes.

"Your talent for finishing each other's sentences never fails to amaze me." Louis shakes his head in awe.

Phoebe shrugs. "'s nothing special, we just do it."

“Yes, it's as simple as-"

"-Breathing." Phoebe concludes.

Louis laughs, sitting on the cushion by the window with a twin on each leg. He looks outside, and what he sees makes his face flush hotly. "Girls, why don't you go wash up? I've got to get dressed and everything, now run along."

Phoebe and Daisy each straighten up to kiss Louis's cheeks, and then they're gone, shutting the door behind them. Louis lets out a shaky breath and turns back to look at what plagues him so.

No one ever passes by Louis's window. It's on the mountain side, overlooking the garden and the stream. Unless one was going to the stream, there was no need to walk past Louis's window. Even Louis hasn't snuck out of it in weeks; any rain there's been has washed away any of Louis's old footprints.

A single pink rose lays on the ground below his window, along with one very deliberate bootprint.

 

"Lou, get down here! It's time to go!" Perrie calls.

Louis shakes out his hair one more time before heading downstairs. The second she lays her eyes on him, Perrie rushes over to Louis and fixes his hair. Laughing, Louis swats her away, and they make their way out to the garden together. Before they even step outside, the sound of chattering voices is evident. Louis emerges out into their huge patio that overlooks the garden and looks around. His parents have spared no expense this year; long tables filled with all sorts of food line the walls, and there's an entire table dedicated to different kinds of wine. Large vases of flowers are everywhere, and the entire patio smells like them. A man plays a lute on a bench by the fountain. Louis plucks a grape from the table closest to him and slides his arm around his sister's waist. They make their way over to their parents, each getting a very forceful hug.

"Father." Louis nods at the king.

King Daniel smiles at him, clapping him on the shoulder. "There's my boy."

"Come, Louis, we'll introduce you to Lady Eleanor." Johannah leads him over to the stairs, where a young woman stands at the bottom, talking and laughing with a man.

Louis takes the stairs slowly, looking at her. She's pretty, with long dark hair and a round face. When he reaches the bottom, Eleanor's friend walks away, and she's left looking at Louis amusedly. Louis bows slightly and kisses her outstretched hand; even if he isn't interested, he still has to have manners. "Milady."

"Hello, Prince Louis. I am Eleanor." She curtsies low.

Louis's mother begins babbling about something, and Louis gives up trying to pay attention after he hears something about training with the "masters of the Seven Kingdoms". Looking off towards the garden, Louis can see a tall man talking to Niall and a girl Louis assumes is Gemma. Niall's got his arm around her waist, and she's leaning into his side. They're cute together, Louis thinks. But the man they're talking to, the one with his back to him, with the dark, curly hair- he's making Louis's heart skip.

Slowly, Louis sidles past Eleanor and makes his way over to Niall. Niall sees Louis and smirks, then whispers something to Gemma, and they walk away. The boy heads deeper into the garden, and Louis follows that head of dark waves until he stops.

"Harry?"

He turns. He's all creamy pale skin and pink lips, eyes the color of the evergreens in the forest and a jawline set like a rock. He smiles at Louis, a lopsided smile that looks almost embarrassed.

"Harry?" Louis asks again.

Harry nods sheepishly. "Hello, darling."

And suddenly Louis is furious. How dare Harry leave him for all this time? How dare he abandon Louis and then return like nothing ever happened?

"Don't call me that- I- it's been four goddamn years, Harry. You left me." Louis snaps.

Harry holds up his hands in surrender. “I had no choice.”

“Of course you had a choice, Harry. There’s always a choice.” Louis says.

“Have you chosen to be with Lady Eleanor, then?” Harry raises his eyebrows. Louis looks him up and down. He’s gotten even taller than he was before, and he seems to have built up a lot of muscle, as well. And Louis is not imagining those arms pinning him to a wall. He's _not_.

Louis scoffs. "I don't even know her."

"And yet you're here together." Harry raises his eyebrows.

"I hardly spoke a word." Louis folds his arms over his chest.

"I came here only because my mother and father died. Our uncle sent us here because he did not want us seeing the funeral." Harry says coldly.

"I think a letter would've been in order." Louis raises his eyebrows.

Harry's face falls. "I could have written a thousand letters, and not a single one could convey what I needed to say."

"Don't think meaningful words shall be the thing that mends this, Harry.” Louis mutters.

“Mends what?” Harry narrows his eyes at Louis. “Was it not you who has been saying it’s been four years?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Harry…”

“I longed for you every day, Louis.”

“Mm.”

“Did… you long for me?”

“I thought I did.”

“Louis, please.” Harry pleads. “I kept my promise, I came back.”

Louis looks at the ground. The stones below him seem to sparkle in the dimming sunlight. He sighs, stepping closer to Harry. A warm hand slides down his arm and takes his hand. Louis doesn't look up as Harry twines their fingers together, and not even when he kisses his hand. He can feel Harry's gaze on him, and that's when he snaps and pulls Harry into his arms. And even though it's been four years and Louis has grown taller and so has Harry and he isn't even sure exactly what's happening, Louis's head fits perfectly in the crook of Harry's neck and Harry's hands are warm on his back and it feels _good_. Louis moves a hand to the back of Harry's neck, pulling him impossibly closer and tugging gently at the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Harry..." Louis breathes.

"Louis..."

Louis doesn't know how long he and Harry stand there, all he knows is that he never wants to leave Harry's arms again. When they do separate, Louis feels warm and fuzzy all over.

"I love you, Louis." Harry says quietly, and Louis's heart just about stops.

He looks at Harry. "Still?"

"Every minute of every hour." Harry nods.

"My sun and stars," Louis reaches up to touch Harry's cheek. "I love you as well."

Harry leans in closer, pressing their foreheads together. "May I?" He asks.

In answer, Louis surges forward and presses their lips together. It's slow and tentative and needy and perfect in every way. Harry slides his arms around Louis's waist and pulls him closer, and Louis threads his fingers in Harry's hair.

"We should get back," Louis breathes into Harry's mouth. "I-I'm surely in trouble for leaving my mother to come see who that _dashing_ young man talking to Niall was."

Harry wrinkles his nose. "He's with my sister."

"And they seemed happy." Louis smiles.

"Are you happy?"

"Ask me that again when these guests are gone." Louis says, and Harry chuckles.

"Come on, you can present yourself with me." Harry pulls away, keeping one arm around Louis's waist.

Louis shakes his head. "You're my secret. At least, for now."

Harry nods, placing a finger over his lips. Laughing, Louis kisses his cheek and heads off to tell Niall his good news. Niall congratulates him with a hug and tells Louis he'll spin a lie for his mother to believe. Over on the patio, Louis fills a goblet with wine and makes his way over to Zayn and Liam, who are holding hands and laughing on a bench.

"Your Highness." Liam bows from his seat.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Please, don't bother. It feels strange. I'm the same as you."

"Why are you flushed?" Zayn asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Niall had Gemma's brother come." He says quietly.

"And?"

"It's him. Harry's back." Louis grins.

Zayn's eyebrows shoot up. " _Your_ Harry?"

"My Harry."

Liam looks between them, confused. "Am I missing something?"

"I, well, when I was eighteen, Harry visited our kingdom for only a week, and we fell in love, and then he had to leave. He swore to me that he'd be back, and he's returned to me." Louis says, blushing.

Liam smiles. "Should you be accompanying him, then?"

"Until I am king, Harry must remain a secret to my mother and father." Louis takes a sip of his wine. "Much like yourselves. Though considerably more secret."

"Of course." Zayn laughs. "Are we allowed to see him? I’m quite sure we never spoke, only locked eyes for a moment before you attacked him.”

A laugh bubbles out of Louis’s mouth. “I believe I’m a bit more graceful than that, Zayn.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Zayn rolls his eyes and bows from his seat.

Louis looks at Liam, blatantly ignoring Zayn. “Liam, would you like to meet Harry?”

“I think you should wait, Sir- Louis. Keep him for the night.” Liam suggests.

“Mm… I enjoy your mindset, Liam. We should’ve hired you sooner.” Louis pats Liam’s shoulder.

Then, just to anger Zayn, Louis plucks his wine from his hand and struts off in the direction of the garden, where he finds Harry weaving a crown out of roses. Harry stands, looking at Louis through long lashes that are casting shadows on his cheeks in the waning sun, bows slowly, and places the crown on Louis’s head. Swiftly, Harry takes the goblets of wine out of Louis’s hands and leaves them on the bench. With the lute’s music playing softly, Harry takes Louis’s waist with one hand and laces their fingers together with the other, and they begin to dance slowly. Louis lays his head on Harry’s shoulder as they rotate in a small circle, with Harry’s fingers tracing patterns on his back.

When Harry visited King's Landing four years ago, Louis snuck him into the castle the second night after they met, and they danced in the Great Hall until the sun began to rise in the east, pretending the whole king’s court was there for a ball. The next night, they snuck onto the roof and held each other for hours, looking up at the sky and telling each other stories and secrets.

They dance until the music stops playing and the sun is completely gone. The majority of the guests have left, and just a few close friends linger, finishing their drinks and discussing their plans for the spring. Louis is laying on the bench with his head in Harry’s lap and looking at the stars; Harry is carding his fingers through his hair.

“Harry,” Louis says after a while.

“Yes, my love?”

“Were you the one who left the rose by my window last night?” Louis asks.

“Of course. Who else could it have been?”

Louis nods. “Oh. May I ask one more question?”

“You’re the prince,” Harry chuckles. “Not I.”

“You said that- well, when we were arguing, you said, well. You said your parents had died, and that’s why you came here all those years ago.” Louis avoids Harry’s eyes.

"They did." Harry nods.

Louis takes Harry's hand and kisses all of his fingers. "I'm sorry, darling."

Harry gives him a half smile. "It's alright. It was a long time ago."

"I never told you about my father, did I?" Louis asks.

"No. " Harry shakes his head.

Louis sighs. "My mother was having an affair with a man called Troy for two years. When she became pregnant, she manipulated the king to think I was his child and had Troy banished. I'm a bastard. And I'm next in line for the crown."

"And you shall be much better than the man who holds the crown now." Harry reassures him.

"Do you not- don't you care?" Louis asks, sitting up. "I should be Louis Snow, or Rivers. Perhaps Louis Hill." He scoffs.

"It does not change the way I feel about you, no." Harry leans over to kiss his cheek.

Louis smiles, pulling a rose from its vine and handing it to Harry. Harry places it behind his ear, and Louis laughs. Standing, Louis takes Harry's hand and leads him out of the garden. Over by the fountain, Niall, Liam, and Zayn are laughing about something. Louis leads Harry over to them and introduces everyone.

"Oh, yes. Louis does quite a bit of talking about you." Zayn smirks as Louis's jaw drops.

"Alright, we are going to bed before you can humiliate me any more." Louis says quickly.

Harry laughs as Louis pulls him away, loud and beautiful and almost obnoxious. Up the big flights of stairs, past the statue of Louis's grandfather, and into Louis's room they go. Louis falls asleep in Harry's arms for the first time in four years.

 ∆

**Two Days Later**

 

Zayn has never, in all of his twenty one years, had such a hard time concentrating.

But with Liam's lips kissing constellations on his neck, and his hands tracing patterns on his waist, Zayn is finding it increasingly difficult to understand the motives of the Westermen soldiers that are moving in a cryptic path in the area around the mountains. Liam sinks his teeth into his neck, and Zayn gives in, turning around in his arms and surging forward to kiss him. Liam smirks before opening his mouth and pulling Zayn even closer.

With fumbling fingers, Zayn undoes Liam's doublet and pulls it off, tossing it to the floor. Liam's shirt comes off next, and then Zayn's, leaving their bare chests pressed together. Backing into his large diagram of the kingdom, Zayn hops up on it, wrapping his legs around Liam's waist. He's careful not to move anything on the diagram.

Liam kisses down the column of Zayn's throat, little sucking kisses that won't bruise but leave red marks. Sliding his hands down Liam's back, Zayn grabs at his arse, pulling their groins together. His fingers slip below the waistband of Liam's trousers, and he gropes his bare bum. Groaning, Zayn arches his back as Liam sucks on his collarbone.

"You make the prettiest noises," Liam mumbles into Zayn's skin.

Zayn brings his hands up to pull at Liam's hair, letting out another strangled moan. Liam moves up, tugging gently on Zayn's earlobe with his teeth. He leaves a light bruise just below Zayn's ear, almost as if he was marking his territory. Pulling his head back up, Zayn holds Liam close enough to ghost their lips together, breathing in each other's air. It makes Zayn dizzy in a way he can't explain.

Liam tweaks one of Zayn's nipples, and he cries out, back arching again.

"Li- _fuck_ , Liam," Zayn wraps his arms around Liam's broad shoulders.

Liam drops to his knees, and something clicks into place in Zayn's head. They're going to attack. The Westermen are taking a strange path in hopes of confusing them into waiting and watching. They'll attack on the solstice celebration, when the kingdom is distracted and vulnerable. It's actually quite smart, Zayn has to admit it. But he's the strategic war planner for a reason.

"Liam, Liam, stop-"

Liam backs off immediately, looking worried. "What is it? Have I done something?"

"No, you're alright, just- I figured out what they want. The Westermen. I must go tell King Daniel." Zayn explains, sliding off the table.

Liam nods slowly, grabs Zayn's shirt, and tosses it to him. "You frightened me for a minute, there."

"Sorry, love." Zayn steps forward to press a kiss to Liam's cheek as he pulls on his shirt.

He laces up his boots as quickly as he can, willing his erection to go down as he prepares to meet with the king. After one final kiss, Zayn hurries out of his room and through the castle to find Daniel. He hurries to the Map Room, where he knows King Daniel is likely to be. Unfortunately, the Map Room is two floors above Zayn’s room, which means he has to race up two flights of stairs and sprint down the corridor, and past all the banisters and portraits to reach the Map Room.

Zayn’s always lived in King's Landing; his father was the kingdom’s previous strategic war planner. When they were young, he and Louis would run through the very same corridors, playing games and tormenting the staff for all their worth. The two of them liked to sneak into the kitchens and have the cook sneak them pastries and early snacks before dinner, always getting food on their clothes and making their parents angry. He was fourteen when his father began teaching him about the geography of the kingdom and the best ways to ambush a group of soldiers and the easiest way to move troops without being seen or heard.

Both of his parents died around the same time; his mother got sick and passed when Zayn was just about to turn fifteen, and his father was killed in battle later that year. Heartbroken and fragile, Zayn decided to buckle down and become the best strategic war planner in the history of Westeros. Zayn remembers walking into the map room, tears streaming down his face, and being completely sure he’d never smile again. How could he? And then summer came, and he and Louis and Niall spent days on the beach, went into the city as often as possible, and snuck out of the castle all the time. After a while, Zayn came out of his stupor and went back to himself.

King Daniel is in the Map Room, but an assistant Zayn's never met stops him. He’s short, with greasy hair and a thin mustache.

"What's your business with the king?" He asks, putting a hand between him and Zayn.

Zayn raises his eyebrows at him. "I have no obligation to tell you, now let me through. And I'd appreciate it if you could lower your hand."

"I'm afraid I can't let you in, Sir."

"Excuse me, I am the strategic war planner of this kingdom and I have news, now let me through." Zayn snaps.

The assistant looks surprised. "But-"

"I designed that map in there when I was sixteen, my name is carved into it, let me _through_." Zayn says angrily.

The assistant steps out of the way, muttering an apology. Zayn rolls his eyes and opens the door. The king looks up when he steps inside. He's sitting in a chair, laughing at one of his friends with a bottle of rum in his hand, legs resting on the diagram of the entire nation. The king’s crown is askew, resting on the side of his head, and there’s a bit of rum spilled down his coat, which is curious, because Zayn doesn’t know Daniel to be a drunk of any sorts. Zayn bows respectively, raising an eyebrow at the other three men spread throughout the map room.

"Your Highness." Zayn says as he bows.

King Daniel stands, looking concerned. Zayn doesn't bother him for just anything. "Yes, my boy?"

"I- um," Zayn looks around at the king's friends.

"Be off, my friends. I see this is urgent." The king waves his friends off, and they exit with dramatic bows. "What is it?"

Zayn looks at the map. He begins moving the wooden pieces that symbolize the west into the strange pattern of the Westermen soldiers approaching. "Do you remember when we spoke of the Westermen that are moving around in that strange path, Sir? The lions?" He asks, lions being the sigil of House Lannister, the rulers of the Westerlands.

"Yes, is that what this is about?"

"Yes. They're moving around in hopes they'll confuse us into not making any moves. On the solstice, they'll move in and attempt to take over King's Landing, Sir." Zayn explains.

"When we're celebrating the end of winter. It's brilliant." King Daniel nods slowly. "We need to prepare our men, then. Will you be fighting in the name of House Tomlinson?"

"I hope to. It is the reason me and your son have trained vigorously for all these years." Zayn says.

The king pats Zayn's back. "Good. Perhaps you should be the one to tell him, and not I. You are his closest companion, I believe."

"Yes, Sir. I'll tell him now." Zayn bows once more before leaving.

Zayn makes his way to Louis's room and knocks on the door a few times.

"Louis! I need to speak to you immediately!" He calls.

No answer.

Zayn doesn't bother wasting time. They've only got three days until the solstice. He kicks the door hard, slamming his boot into the wood just beside the knob. The door flies open, and Zayn sees exactly why Louis didn't answer. Harry's laid on his stomach with Louis between his legs, whimpering as Louis licks at his arse. Zayn narrows his eyes at them, raising an eyebrow. Louis looks up lazily.

"Ten minutes." He says, and returns to the task at hand.

"Louis," Zayn takes a deep breath. "I don't think you know how important this is. It could mean war."

Groaning, Louis stands, and Harry turns to glare at Zayn. With a shrug, Zayn steps outside and waits for them to get dressed.

  ∆

"I have to finish by myself, don't I?" Harry grumbles from the bed, already sliding a finger inside himself.

Louis smiles apologetically and pulls on his shirt. Thankfully, Louis's pants hadn't come off yet during their steamy almost-sex session, so he only has to lace up his shirt and pull on his boots, and then he's out the door. Zayn is leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. He straightens up when Louis comes out. And he's got his focus face on.

"What is it?" Louis asks, arranging his trousers so his erection can't be seen.

Zayn starts walking. "We need to ready the troops."

"For what reason?" Louis presses. Zayn's mystique is beginning to frustrate him.

"They're going to attack." Zayn says, opening the door to the Map Room.

Louis can only remember the kingdom being at war once. He was sixteen, and still too young to go to battle. Zayn's mother had died just weeks prior,and his father was still at battle. When his father died, Louis had watched as his best friend became determined to win that war and bring the rest of their men home safely. It took a few weeks, but their troops were back in their houses soon. But during the war, the kingdom was bleak, and darkness lurked around every corner. All their money went to funding the war, and anything left over went to feeding their troops. More and more citizens were kicked out of their homes, and the threat of Louis or his family being hurt by troops from the east that had snuck into the kingdom rose immensely. It was eight months until they were allowed into the city again.

"Dammit, Zayn, tell me what's going on!" Louis stands up straighter and puffs his chest out a bit, because dammit, he's the prince and he will not be keep waiting.

Zayn leans over the map and points to the little wooden soldier, painted white to symbolize the west. "Westermen are coming. They're going to attack us in three days."

Louis folds his arms over his chest. Only Zayn would've been able to figure that out with the strange path those soldiers were taking. And it dawns on Louis exactly why they've waited so long. "The solstice. Of course, we'd be distracted because of the celebration!"

"From what I've figured out, that's their general idea. We're going to ambush them." Zayn says.

"It greatly angers me that you're so smart." Louis grumbles.

Zayn laughs brightly. "Does it?" He turns back to the map. "Right, we've got two days to ready the men. You go and train with Liam as much as you can. We're all of age now."

"And what're you going to do?" Louis asks.

"I'm going to do what I do best. I'm going to plan." Zayn says with a smirk.

There's something bright in his eyes that makes Louis smile, because he only gets that look when he's working, when he's planning the best way to move troops, the best weapons to be used, the best formation to attack in. Zayn's love for his job makes Louis unexplainably happy. Perhaps it's because of the sadness he once knew his friend to bear on his shoulders, or maybe it's simply because he likes seeing Zayn happy, Louis doesn't know.

"What're you smiling about? Go away."

Louis makes his way back to his room, where Harry is getting dressed. He had planned to drag Harry to the training room, but he has to stop for a minute to admire how beautiful Harry is, all sinewy and pale, bright eyes and a smile brighter than all the stars Louis has ever seen. He steps forward now, hands resting in Harry's waist, stands on tiptoe to kiss him gently. Eyes closed, hands touching each other gently, holding each other close.

"What was that for?" Harry asks, pressing their foreheads together. Louis doesn't have to open his eyes to know he's smiling.

"I love you."

He hasn't said it since the day Harry returned, but it still feels strange and daring and wild on his tongue. To say one loves someone is to give oneself completely over to them. Every inch, every secret, every part of them, even if they hates it, is theirs. And it's not hard for Louis. He's always been Harry's.

"I love you, darling." Harry says back.

Louis kisses him again, just because he can. "Get dressed, love, we've got work to do."

"How so?" Harry asks, pulling away to put on a shirt.

"War is coming."

Something in Harry's face hardens, something that, if Louis didn't know Harry, would scare him. "I need to tell you something."

"I- of course."

Harry takes Louis and leads him over to the window seat, and they sit on the cushion. "I told you my parents had died all those years ago, but I didn't tell you the rest of it. When I got back, they explained it all to me. My parents were killed by a special group of men who opposed their political views. They were part of their own special group of warriors, though. Gemma and I were trained as if we were their own children, and it took years, but we learned. We learned and we fought and we sought revenge on the men that killed our mother and father. But as we got older, the urgency to avenge them lessened. In the end, our training served only to teach us to defend ourselves."

Louis blinks a few times. Harry? A warrior? Clumsy, silly Harry who never wanted to kill the bug that wandered into Louis's room, who Louis knew had doted over a cat called Dusty back at home, who was so gentle with Louis in bed Louis wasn't even sure it was possible.

"You must be shitting me." Louis looks at him.

Harry shakes his head. "I swear it."

Suddenly a very scary thought occurs to Louis.

"Can you swear to me that you haven't come back now to hurt me or my family?" Louis asks, standing and stepping away from Harry.

Harry's face falls. "Louis," He says, shaking his head. "Louis, I came back because I want to be with you, I- I'd never even dream of hurting you, I... I love you."

"Can you swear it?" Louis repeats quietly.

“I’d never lay a finger on you if it was not what you wished.” Harry puts his hand over his heart. “They only wanted us to be able to protect ourselves.”

“So,” Louis says softly. “Gemma is a… she can do that too?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “She can. And… what exactly do you think we can do?”

“I don’t have any fucking idea, Harry.” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Dooooo you want me to show you?” Harry asks, standing. Louis doesn’t back away this time.

“What does that entail?” Louis asks, fighting to keep the smile off his lips.

With a smirk that could make even the noblest of women swoon, Harry steps forward and runs his hand down Louis’s side, breath ghosting over his ear. Louis thinks Harry’s going to kiss him, but in a second he’s stepping away with Louis’s dagger in his hand. Sneaky bastard. Harry turns it over in his hands, and Louis can see he’s testing out the weight of it. Holding it by the blade, Harry turns to face Louis’s painting of the sea and flings the knife at it. It sticks just above one of the rocks in the painting.

“Any more questions?” Harry asks as he goes to retrieve the blade.

“Just wondering if you shall be fighting with us.” Louis raises his eyebrows.

Harry comes close again to put Louis’s dagger back into its sheath. “I hope to, Your Highness.”

“Charming.” Louis chuckles. “Come. We’re going to the training ring.”

Slowly, Harry moves in to kiss Louis. Louis nods, and Harry wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’d never, ever hurt you. I love you.”

After more kisses than Louis can count, he and Harry make their way to the training room. Liam is already in there, sparring with one of his friends. Both Liam and his friend- a dark-eyed, light-haired boy-bow when Louis enters.

“When I’m king,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I believe I’m going to enforce a law that prevents people from bowing. It’s just so unnecessary.”

Liam’s friend laughs, stepping out of the ring.

“You can stay, I still have to put everything on.” Louis says kindly. “Ugh.”

 

The next two days are spent training vigorously with Harry, Liam, Niall, and Zayn. Louis learns countless new techniques, ranging from proper stance to the best way to kill from behind (both from Harry). He also learns that if he were up against Harry in a fight, he would lose. Terribly. Harry’s vicious, and quick, and doesn’t give Louis a single inch of mercy while they train. That, Louis supposes, is a good thing, because no enemy he’ll be fighting will ever show mercy.

The night before the solstice, Zayn, Liam, Louis, Niall, and Harry climb onto the roof above Louis’s bedroom and watch the sunset. The city waits in an eerie silence, like the calm before a storm. The only sound to be heard is the breathing and whispering of Louis’s friends and the occasional animal slinking about below them. Louis can feel the fear in his friends as if it was a real, tangible thing. And he’s afraid too. Losing any one of the people sitting here would be the equivalent to losing a limb.

“Are you cold?” Harry asks, sliding closer to Louis to pull him close. “Your heart is beating like a jackrabbit.”

Louis shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“He’s nervous.” Zayn says. “Louis’s heart always beats fast when he’s nervous. Whether he’s calm or not, if Louis is nervous, his heart starts fluttering.”

Louis knows it’s absolutely true. The first time he met Harry, his heart was beating so fast he thought he was having an actual heart attack. Louis turns to glare at Zayn anyway. Harry kisses the side of his head and ruffles his hair. Looking over at his friends, Louis is overcome by a sudden wave of sadness and fear. War could mean losing any one of them. Or all of them. Niall’s endlessly terrible jokes, Zayn’s witty banter, even Liam’s little smile when he’s embarrassed- they could all be gone within a day. He can’t lose Harry. It wouldn’t be fair. He hasn’t even properly had Harry, he can’t lose him again. And losing him in the impending war would mean that he doesn’t get to come back.

When war came around last time, by the time Louis was old enough to be conscious of it, it was drawing to a close. This time, it… it doesn’t feel the same as it did when Louis was younger, because there’s so much more at stake for him and all his friends. He’s been fortunate enough not to have experienced much loss in his life so far. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen it. Louis never said anything, but he sees the way Zayn’s shoulders still curl forward a little too far, or the way his gaze softens every time he sees Louis with one of his sisters. Zayn is too young to have so many ghosts.

Louis’s train of thought is interrupted by Ryden poking his head onto the roof- he must be standing on Louis’s windowsill. “Sir,” He says. “Your parents wish to see you in the Throne Room.”

“Of course.” With a sigh, Louis stands and approaches Ryden. “Don’t fall.” He chides as he climbs into his room behind Ryden.

Ryden stays in Louis’s room to tidy up, and Louis makes his way to the Throne Room. When he arrives, his mother and father are sitting on a small couch beside the Iron Throne. Louis understands- made of the swords of the fallen, the throne can't exactly be comfortable. Johannah stands, looking teary-eyed. Louis swallows. There's a strangely melancholy look in his father's eyes.

“Mother, Father, what is it?” He asks.

Daniel stands now, too. “My son,” He places a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “Your mother and I want you to know… that even though we weren’t the most attentive of parents…” He breaks off. “You’ve become a fine young man, Louis.”

“A fine young man indeed. You continue to show great kindness and determination in everything you do, and parents couldn’t ask for anything finer.” Johannah says. Her voice cracks a bit, as if she’s trying hard not to cry.

Daniel nods. “Though the girls made it hard to focus on you, Louis, I remember the first steps you took like it was yesterday. And I remember the first time I got to hold you in my arms, and the first time I saw those eyes, so unlike mine or your mother’s. I’ve watched you grow, even if from a distance, and it truly pains me that I cannot turn back time and raise my boy properly.”

Louis’s throat starts to tighten. “Father…” He never had any idea that Daniel cared for him.

“You’re a smart boy, quick, and clever in ways that I’ve never been. You’ll make a wonderful king. Truly wonderful.” Daniel looks like he’s tearing up as well.

“Why… Why does this sound like some bizarre farewell?” The tears in Louis’s eyes begin to spill over, and he wipes them away with his sleeve.

The king smiles sadly. “Because it may very well be, Louis. None of us knows what could happen tomorrow.”

“Don’t,” Louis shakes his head, voice cracking. “Please don’t say that.”

Louis has just now begun to understand how much Daniel means to him. Louis knows he’s always been a handful to deal with- always making messes in the halls when he was younger breaking the glasses in the dining room just to anger his parents- but he never thought he was much more than one of eight to his parents. He took care of Lottie when Felicite came along, and always tried to help out whenever he could, but he never thought his father actually cared about that. It seemed as if he was always just scolding him for doing something that could be frowned upon by the public. Louis sees now that Daniel appreciated everything that he did, even if he didn’t show it. And Louis is beginning to understand that even though Daniel isn’t his real parent, he’s the only person Louis could ever think of as his father (Not even Zayn’s father, Yaser, who loved Louis as his own and treated him as so).

“If something should happen to both of us, my boy-”

Louis shakes his head once more. “Father-”

“Listen to me, son. If something happens to you, I need to know that you approve of Perrie taking the crown.” Daniel says, trying to sound stern, but his voice is too wobbly.

"That was always the plan, she'd be queen if I was hurt, yes." Louis rubs his eyes.

Louis looks up as his mother lets out a choked sort of sob into a handkerchief. "We love you so very much, Louis."

"Mum," Louis's voice cracks, and he steps forward to embrace his mother.

"You're making me weep harder, darling, stop," Johannah laughs sadly and pushes Louis away.

"Louis," Daniel says, and Louis turns back to face his father. "And if anything should happen to me, that I am no longer fit to rule this kingdom in the way she deserves, Louis; it'll be your turn. And you will rule with justice, and kindness, wit and determination. Take whoever you want to rule alongside you. When you are king, only you can decide what's wrong and what is right."

Louis almost chokes on his own spit. Take whoever he wants alongside him? "Father..."

"I'm so very proud of you, Louis. You're my boy."

Louis flings himself at his father, feeling to all world like a crying child, and wraps his arms around him. Daniel responds quickly, arms moving to wrap around Louis's shoulders and hold his son close. Louis's tears fall freely, dripping down his face and falling on his father's jacket. It could be minutes, it could be hours that they stand there hugging, Louis simply doesn't know. But he needs air. Needs fresh air to calm himself down desperately. He pulls away from his father.

"I need air, I'll be back," He mutters.

Outside, Louis walks the streets of the city. His tears have slowed, but he isn't even close to being finished. It feels like he's been blind this entire time. Of course Daniel loves him, how could Louis think otherwise? How could he ever think his father would judge him for who he loves? Louis sits the counter of a boarded up market stall, bringing his knees to his chest. He rests his head on his knees and closes his eyes. He hates crying, he's always hated it. Crying makes him feel weak, like he has no control over his own emotions.

A cat hops up on the market stand and settles itself next to Louis. It rubs its head against Louis's side, asking for cuddles. Louis chuckles and scratches between its ears. Suddenly, the cat tenses and runs away. Louis looks around, hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his dagger. Two arms wrap around him from behind, and it takes every ounce of control Louis has not to scream.

"What're you doing out so late?"

But it's only Harry, resting his chin on Louis's shoulder. Louis heaves a sigh of relief.

"Are you crying? What- what's wrong, darling?" Harry asks quickly.

Louis shakes his head. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Louis," Harry jumps over the counter- much more gracefully than Louis would've thought possible for him-and sits next to Louis. "Did he say something?"

"The king? He- he said that, when I'm king, I can take whoever I want alongside me." Louis says slowly.

Harry looks up at him slowly. "Does that mean...?"

"Yes," Louis's voice is gravelly and rough, like he's just screamed his worries to the heavens. "You can be my king."

Harry holds him closer and presses a kiss to his temple. "Is that... a bad thing? You're sad."

"No, no, not about that, no."

"If not I, then what is it?"

Louis hiccups. "I could lose you tomorrow. I could lose you, or Zayn, or Niall, or Liam. I could lose my father. I can't lose any of you. Harry, I just got you back. I cannot let you risk your life for a battle that isn't even yours to fight."

"You don't have a choice. And you're not going to lose anyone. I promise. I'll see to it that your loved ones are safe." Harry says softly.

"And who will see to you?" Louis looks up at Harry.

"Don't worry about me." Harry smiles. "I can handle myself. Swear it."

Louis sighs, and Harry wipes his tears away with his thumb. "No more tears, darling. Come, we need to rest. We've a hard day tomorrow. "

Louis follows Harry as he stands, landing quietly on the balls of his feet. Together, they walk back to the castle. Louis peels off his clothing and climbs into bed in nothing but his trousers. Harry curls around him right away, his chest pressing against Louis's back. With Harry's arms around him and his heart beating steadily against his back, Louis drifts into sleep.

∆

 _It's a perfect day to start a war_ , Zayn thinks as he slides down the banister of the grand staircase. It's cold and bleak, and the final snowflakes of winter have just begun to fall. Liam is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, looking grim. Until just seconds ago, Zayn hadn't allowed himself to think of the consequences of this war, but now, as he looks down at his love of almost two years, he realizes exactly how much he has to lose. He drops the maps in his hands and flings himself at Liam, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Liam makes a surprised noise and holds on tightly.

"What is it, my love?" Liam asks softly.

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut tight and kisses Liam's neck. "I don't want you to fight today." He mutters.

"Zayn," Liam puts him down carefully. "I have a duty to our kingdom. I don't want you to fight either, but you don't have a choice as well. And nor does Niall or Louis or Harry. So we must fight."

"If I lose you-"

"I'm not going anywhere, alright? We're all going to be just fine." Liam assures him.

Zayn nods slowly, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. "I apologize. I'm just worried for you. For all of us."

"And I'd be concerned if you weren't, darling." Liam kisses the side of his head. "Come. We've got to rally the men. Louis and the king are giving their speeches soon."

Liam takes his hand, and they make their way to Zayn's room, where they pull on their armor. Zayn's armor is a specially designed kind, light, and strong, and dyed navy blue to signify him as one of the archers. For the first while of the battle, Zayn will be with the archers, firing wave after wave of arrows at the western soldiers. He plans to join the battle as soon as he can, to contribute as much effort as he can give. He pulls the blue hood over his head, and takes his bow from where it's hanging on the wall. The matching quiver and arrows are hung just below it; Zayn takes them and slings each across his back. A sword slid into a sheath, a knife slipped between a strap, and he's ready. He watches as Liam slides a few throwing knives into his belt.

"You have terrible aim." Zayn laughs a little sadly.

Liam gives him that heart-wrenching half smile. "If worse comes to worst, I think they'll manage."

In the armory, an organized line of at least seventy men (though there are at least a thousand waiting outside the city) are arming themselves with all kinds of weapons. Louis and Harry are standing off to the side, each pulling their armor on. They look over as Liam and Zayn approach, each offering a grim smile. Niall is sitting on a crate, picking at his nails with a long, thin, dagger.

"Good morning, Zayn." Louis says good-naturedly. "And to you, Liam."

Zayn shrugs. "Not much good today, is there?"

Louis gives him a look. It's a sad look, with hooded eyes and worry-bitten lips forming a half-smile. The kind of look one never wishes to receive from their best friend. Zayn reaches forward and pulls Louis in with a hand at the back of his neck. Louis holds onto him tightly, as if it's the last time they'll ever embrace. The tension and nervousness is evident like a drawn bow, ready to spring forth at any moment. They separate, and Louis reciprocates with a hand on the back of Zayn's neck, and they look at each other for a long moment. Both of them could be dead by sundown. Zayn pats Louis's cheek and turns back to Liam.

"Zayn," Louis grabs his wrist, and he turns. "If we don't-"

"No," Zayn shakes his head. "We'll see each other before it starts."

"But just in case-"

"Lou. I'll see you soon."

Zayn takes Liam's hand and leads him outside. Men of all shapes and sizes are making their way to the outskirts of the city, each clad in armor with weapons on their backs. There's a nervous sort of moroseness that can be seen on everyone's faces, like they know exactly what they're walking into. Zayn feels his heartbeat pick up, and he turns to look at Liam. Liam rubs his back and shakes his head. It doesn't make him feel better, not really, but Liam's touch is familiar on the small of his back. They follow the troops towards the forest, where Niall and Gemma catch up with them.

Niall’s got on the traditional royal purple armor and gray cloak, which is haphazardly buckled around his neck. Gemma is wearing a white cloak over dyed red armor, its hood coming to a point over top of her hair, which is plaited into a braid. She’s dressed like Harry. Zayn cocks his head. While they are permitted to, women don’t usually participate in battles. It’s uncommon for them to want to fight.

He looks at Gemma. “Will you be-?”

“Gemma and Harry were trained as assassins when they were younger.” Niall says bluntly.

Zayn blinks a few times, looking between Gemma and Niall. “Um…”

Gemma flushes pink and nods. “More like warriors. The armor is traditionally worn on our island, that’s why it’s so harshly colored.”

“The red is beautiful,” Liam says. “I suppose it doesn’t stain when someone, ah, bleeds on it.”

“Thank you,” Gemma chuckles. “And yes, it cannot stain.”

The sound of hooves clattering on cobblestones can be heard approaching, and Zayn doesn’t need to look to know who it is. A horse, white as the thin layer of snow on the ground, gallops past them and towards the front of the group. It’s King Daniel and his men, their gray cloaks flowing behind them as they ride through with a kind of commanding authority that brings a hush through the crowd. Women and children are peeking out of their windows, stopping their husbands or brothers for one final kiss before sending them on their way.

Louis comes next, on a horse as black as night, trotting towards them with a look on his face like he can’t believe he has to parade through the city like this. Zayn snorts and reaches forward to pet his horse’s neck. Louis’s had the horse since he was nineteen, and he named it Troy, after his father.

“Hello, lads.” Louis says as he swings his leg over Troy’s back and lands lightly on the cobblestones. Zayn watches him hand his reins over to a servant.

“Where’s Harry?” Niall asks.

Zayn’s sees Gemma’s eyes flit over to the rooftops. He looks too, but doesn’t see anything, so he turns back to Louis. “He’ll be here, he said he’s checking something.” Louis says.

“He’s already here.” Gemma says quietly. She’s looking at the rooftops again.

Zayn follows her gaze. There, standing on the terracotta roof of the house to their left, is Harry. He’s a red and white silhouette against the dull gray of the sky, his face completely hidden by his hood, which comes to a point at the front. His cloak flaps in the wind, and a sword made of metal blacker than anything Zayn’s ever seen glints at his side. It’s like Zayn’s stepped into one of the city’s old legends, where the mysterious hooded man steps in and saves the day. Harry hops off the roof. His cloak flies in the air, alighting behind him like wings, and he lands lightly on the balls of his feet.

Zayn watches Harry pull his hood down, and hastily pulls his own down- proper etiquette requires him to keep it down in front of the prince. Usually Louis would roll his eyes and tell him to pull it back up, but those eyes are focused solely on Harry, watching him as he approaches. Zayn leans into Liam’s chest as Harry and Louis embrace, scoffing. Liam takes his hand, lacing their fingers together as they approach the forest. A cold wind blows through the streets, blowing the snowflakes around in the air.

The walk to the forest is quiet, the tension evident. Eventually, cobblestones turn to dirt road, and dirt road shortly turns to the slightly snow-covered forest floor. Zayn knows he’ll have to climb into the trees with the other archers, but he wants to stay with his friends as long as he can. Men are already waiting there, and more are gathering behind Zayn and his friends. The generals begin to order the troops to form their ranks, and Zayn pulls his hood back up over his head, and tries to put on the emotionless mask of focus he used to wear when his father died.

“Archers, to your posts!”

Liam turns to look at Zayn. Louis and the others are nowhere to be seen. Battle calls from the men from the west ring out into the eerie silence. Zayn feels his heartbeat pick up, and suddenly he can hardly get enough air in his lungs, can barely think of anything other than the fact that he and all his friends could be dead within the hour. And then Liam's pulling him into his chest, and his hood's being pulled off, and a kiss is being pressed to the top of his head.

"Listen to me, Zayn." Liam takes Zayn's face in his hands. "You are, by far, the most determined man I've ever met. You shouldn't be afraid of this. This is eight hundred men- you took down six _thousand_ when you were _fifteen_! You'll be fine, we'll all be fine, my love."

Zayn nods. " _Please_ ," He straightens up to put a hand on Liam's cheek. "Please be careful."

"I will." Liam says quietly. "Go. I'll see you soon."

Zayn steps back, pulls on his hood, and with it, his focus. He follows a fellow archer in blue towards the other archers, and stops at an Evergreen tree that will not only hide him from the opposing archers, but will shelter him from the snow. He starts up it, using everything at his disposal to get to the spot he's aiming for. When he reaches the right height, Zayn perches on the knot in the bark and pulls his bow off his shoulder. He doesn't bother notching an arrow just yet.

Looking down, Zayn sees Louis and his father embracing below. They separate and climb onto their horses, then begin to give their speeches. The king goes first, and then Louis says his. Zayn isn't really listening; his mind has wandered to a day long ago.

It was towards the beginning of summer, when he was fourteen and Louis was fifteen. Rain was pouring down- they'd been stuck inside the castle for four days, and there's only so much training one can do before they get bored. So they snuck out. It was Louis's idea to go and climb trees, and Zayn had complied with little worry. The two of them climbed out of Louis's bedroom window and snuck through the city. With their hoods pulled all the way up, no one suspected a thing.

When they reached the forest, Louis stopped at a rather short elm tree and reached up to grab one of the branches. Zayn watched him climb, intrigued by the way he seemed to be weightless as he hopped from limb to limb. He went next, reaching Louis in a matter of seconds. From their vantage point on the hill, Louis and Zayn could see the whole city spread out below them. It looked like a painting, every roof a perfect pointed piece of reddish-brown, every house an immaculate white.

And they could also hear the battle.

Though it was miles off, battle cries and screams of pain could be heard. Zayn knew they were strictly forbidden to leave the city, especially since there was a war going on, and especially not with the prince. But he and Louis had always loved getting up to a bit of mischief, and this was no exception. The two of them sat there, getting more soaked by the minute, and watched. Occasionally they’d see one of the messenger falcons pass by on its way into the city, but otherwise it was quiet.

But they hadn’t heard the soldier from the west creeping up the tree behind them.

Suddenly there was a big, meaty hand clamping around Louis’s mouth, and his eyes went wide and it took Zayn a second to process what was going on. In a flash he had taken out the dagger strapped to his leg and he lashed out at the man. The blade struck skin and he kept going until he had sliced a deep gash in the man’s hand. He let go of Louis and lost his balance, fell out of the tree, and onto the ground. Louis fell with him, but he managed to catch himself on a branch.

Zayn leapt to the branch directly above the man who attacked Louis, and jumped. They were only about ten feet up, so he didn’t feel anything but a dull pain in his legs as he landed in a crouch just next to the man’s head. Louis landed a few feet away. Zayn hauled the man up and pushed him up against the tree. His head hit the bark and he groaned.

“Louis, help me!” He called.

Louis sprung into action, rushing forward to grab the man’s hands and keep him from hitting Zayn. Bringing his dagger to the man’s neck, Zayn pushed it forward slightly, drawing forth a bead of scarlet blood that slid down his throat.

“What d’you want with the prince?” Zayn growled.

The man, probably in his late thirties, grinned. “Killing him would make the king very angry, wouldn’t it?” He looked at Louis. “So angry he might not be able to focus on the war.”

“So you intended to kill me and my father?” Louis asked. His voice sounded higher due to fear.

“Don’t sound so surprised, _boy_.” He spat. “We need to win this war.”

“Do your men know you’re here?” Zayn asked, pushing his arm a little harder into the man’s chest. His armor was of low quality.

The soldier laughed coldly. “You mean will anyone come looking for me? No.” He shook his head.

Zayn narrowed his eyes and pushed the blade further. More blood came forth, flowing freely down his sweat and dirt-stained neck. The man made a sickly, wet sort of sound and struggled to squirm out of Zayn’s grip. Zayn held him tighter, and, after a moment’s hesitation, slit his throat. Blood poured from his neck, and he went limp under Zayn. His eyes, just seconds ago a pale blue, faded into a dead gray. Zayn stepped back, horrified at what he’d just done.

The soldier slumped to the ground, and Zayn looked down at his hands. They were wet with blood, and though he eventually washed it off, that man, and many others' blood lingers in his mind. The memory of that day and of saving Louis’s life is as fresh as ever in Zayn’s mind. It took a long while for Zayn to stop thinking about the man’s life he’d just ruined, the father he’d stripped from his children. It got easier after a few deaths in battle. Still, Zayn often stops to think about whose family he’s just sent into grief.

“They’re coming now,” One of the archers near Zayn whispers.

Zayn looks forward. He can see men, hundreds of them, all dressed in brown, coming towards them.

“Archers, at the ready!”

Zayn reaches back to grab an arrow. He notches it in the string of his bow, and aims for a soldier’s neck. He watches and waits. When the signal goes out, Zayn lets the arrow fly, straight and true, into the man’s throat. He goes down, and so do at least fifty other men, but Zayn’s already reaching back to notch another arrow. He lets it go as he catches sight of both groups running towards each other. He readies another arrow, lets it go. Another, and he’s halfway to jumping out of the tree and joining the fight. One more, and he’s on the ground, firing more arrows at the soldiers dressed in black.

A bow pulled, an arrow shot. It’s a simple action, one Zayn has learned to do almost mechanically, so that by the time one arrow is leaving the bow he’s already reaching for another one. He hears a sickening thump as one of his arrows hits one of the troops’ sternum, and he falls to the ground. Quick as lightning, Zayn fits his bow over his shoulder and draws out his sword. Silver, with a gold handle and an inscription on the hilt: _Ad Alta_. It simply means _to the summit_. The sword was a gift from his father, meant to be given to him on his sixteenth birthday. King Daniel bestowed it to Zayn after his father died.

A soldier approaches Zayn and slashes at him with his broadsword. Zayn parries easily and slashes at his hand. The man drops his weapon and clutches at his injured hand, and Zayn runs his sword through his neck. Zayn was taught to go for a man’s armed hand at an early age; disarm and kill. It’s the easiest way to take a man down, and probably the quickest. But Zayn likes a challenge.

A few feet away, a huge Westerman is taking down man after man. Zayn hurries up to him and attacks, aiming for his heavily muscled chest. The man deflects easily, laughing with a deep, gravelly voice. His huge longsword swooshes towards Zayn, and he ducks; he can hear the blade whoosh through the air. Zayn swipes at the man’s ankles, cutting past his leather boots and slicing skin. The huge man cries out, swinging his sword at Zayn’s head. Zayn uses both hands on his own sword to deflect his blow, but the man cuts a slit in his cheek. Zayn lifts his unarmed hand to hold his face and grips his sword tighter with the other. The pain makes him even more focused.

He moves his hand, wiping it on his thigh. The huge soldier before him stabs at his chest. Zayn dodges and hits the man’s longsword hard with his own sword. The vibrations cause the soldier to drop his sword, and Zayn impales him as he scrambles to grab a knife from his belt. He falls to the ground with a thump. Then Zayn’s on to the next man. As he lunges toward the burly soldier, another grabs him from behind.

The first man comes toward him, his long knife still dripping with the blood of a fallen soldier. Zayn bites down on his lip and kicks out, hitting the first soldier square in the chest with his boots. He uses the first man as leverage and pulls himself out of the other soldier’s grip, landing in a crouch in front of them both. Whirling around, Zayn blocks a sword as it comes toward him, twisting his arm to slash at the other soldier's arm. He slices through the skin of his shoulder; blade hits bone and he keeps pushing until it goes all the way through. The man screams, and Zayn silences him by slitting his throat.

And then the first man is on him, coming at him with a speed and ferocity that surprises Zayn. He rolls out of the way and shoves his blade through the soldier's back. And then he's on to the next man, cutting a path through to Liam. Liam is surrounded by at least ten soldiers, and he’s barely defending himself.

Silently, Zayn moves up behind one of the Westermen and slits his throat. He does the same to two more men, and then breaks through their circle to stand back-to-back with Liam.

“Hello, Zayn.” He says conversationally.

Zayn laughs and parries a swing from a soldier. “‘lo, darling. How are we?”

“Not so good until you showed up. What happened to your face?” Liam asks, slicing at a soldier’s chest.

“The big one with the longsword sliced at me.” Zayn says simply. He thrusts his sword through a soldier’s heart and slides it back out, dripping with scarlet blood.

“Tell me you killed him, at the very least.” Liam deadpans.

Zayn smiles, but it makes the pain in his face all the sharper. There’s blood in his mouth, and he’s not sure if it’s how own anymore. “Do you doubt my abilities? I’ll have you know- hang on.”

Zayn ducks a throwing knife that comes from his left; it buries itself in a soldier’s neck. Reaching back, Zayn pulls an arrow out of his quiver and flings it at a man in front of him. It hits him in the chink in his armor between his torso and his arm. He shouts and pulls it out, and Zayn lurches forward to stab him in the jugular with the very same arrow. The soldier falls to the ground with a guttural cry.

"You are," Liam begins as he parries someone's blade, "absolutely terrifying. And I love you for it."

Smirking, Zayn tosses his sword back into his right hand and returns to his task. He cuts down three more men, pats Liam's back, and scurries back up a tree. He slides his sword back into its sheath and pulls his bow off his back. Mechanically, Zayn fires shot after shot at the Westermen, taking a soldier down with every arrow. After a while his quiver is lighter, lacking arrows. Zayn drops to the forest floor, looking around. An archer lies dead nearby, her quiver almost completely full.

Zayn grabs the arrows and shoves them in his own quiver and quickly ducks out of the way of a sword swinging towards him. The sword’s owner yelps as someone else’s arrow pierces his chest. Zayn looks over at his comrade and nods in a silent thank you. His cheek is throbbing, new blood dripping over already-dried blood. It’s already stained his hood; Zayn groans, he likes this cloak. He spots Louis in a rut with a soldier nearby, and draws his bow again. His arrow flies straight and true, directly into the other soldier’s neck. Louis looks over at him and grins. Zayn’s running over there in seconds, bow slung over his shoulder and sword in hand.

Adrenaline pumps through Zayn's veins, fueling him to run harder, to move faster. In a split second he's decided what to do, and he slides his sword back into his sheath, still sprinting towards Louis and the soldier. He jumps on the soldier's back, grabs him by the head and quickly jerks his head left and right. There's a sickening crack, and Zayn lands in a crouch as the soldier falls to the ground. Louis helps him up, and he draws his sword again.

"Thanks for that one." Louis says.

Zayn grins. "I have a duty to serve the prince, and the king. As did my father."

Louis’s smile falters. “Do not take an arrow for me.” He shakes his head, completely serious. “You are not dying for me. Understand?” He asks.

“If I must, Louis, I shall.” Zayn says.

“Zayn please. I could not live knowing your death was my fault.” Louis’s eyes are pleading, and Zayn has to agree with him, even if it is not the truth. He could never let his best friend die. Even if Louis wasn’t the prince, Zayn knows he’d still die for him. And the same for Liam and Niall, and probably even Harry.

“As you wish, my prince.” He says with a bow.

Louis glares at him and swipes viciously at a soldier nearby. His sword catches the man’s chest, and tears his torso open. Zayn averts his eyes, not wishing to see his face as the life leaves his eyes. An arrow comes whizzing towards him, and Zayn barely has time to deflect it with his sword. He picks up the arrow, draws his own bow, and takes down the archer with the same arrow to the neck. Wiping his bloodied cheek, Zayn sheaths his sword and slings his bow over his shoulder. Up the nearest tree he goes, though he does have to push an archer from the west out of his newfound spot.

Zayn draws his bow again, taking down men in all directions. He gives a sharp intake of breath and chokes on blood from his cheek, and he has to stop and take cover to cough it up. In a second, Louis is up there with him with a hand on his back and another holding his bow. Zayn coughs until he's done, and he sits panting for a moment before he holds a hand out for his bow. Curling his hand around the curved wood, Zayn gives Louis a silent thank you in a nod.

"Of course," Louis nods back.

There's a cry below them, and Zayn looks down and sees a soldier fall to the ground by Liam's sword. Liam doesn't see them, only continues to run and fight. Death is in every direction Zayn looks, completely inescapable. For every man the Westermen take down, the king’s men dispose of two. Bodies litter the ground, and the light layer of snow is slowly but surely turning scarlet with blood. More men fall to the ground every minute. There’s a stench in the air that Zayn’s never smelled before, like rust and salt and something deep and musky underneath. He wonders it it’s the smell of death (if death itself has a smell).

Liam, Harry, and Niall are scattered across the forest. Zayn feels himself go pale as he watches Liam become slowly surrounded by western soldiers. Barely able to defend himself, Liam earns himself a gash on his left arm and a slice down his face that starts at his eyebrow, narrowly misses the corner of his eye, and stops just at the right of his mouth. Zayn watches him blink blood out of his eyes and spit it out of his mouth. He drops to the forest floor in seconds, and distantly hears Louis call his name.

He sprints towards Liam, thoughts turning into a constant stream of _Liam, no_. Pushing past the other soldiers, not caring about the sheer size of the men around Liam, or the fact that there is no way in heaven or on earth that they could kill this many soldiers, Zayn ran. Towards his best friend, towards his confidant, towards his first and only love, and towards his imminent death.

∆

It's cold when Louis wakes up. He reaches beside him, to find the warmth that is Harry, but the bed is empty.

The bed is empty and Louis is terrified.

He’s only just gotten Harry back. It’s not possible. Harry wouldn't have left him. They spent the entire night telling each other they’d be alright, that they’d make it through the next day, and now Harry’s left before the battle’s even begun. Heartbeat racing, Louis pulls a robe off his bedside table and pulls it around himself.

Outside, snow is falling slowly, each snowflake it’s own perfectly unique design that drifts to the ground. Harry’s there, looking at the mountains, his dark hair glistening like threads of gold in the sunlight. There’s an ethereal look to him, wistful and sad and mysterious all at the same time.

Louis heaves a sigh of relief, approaching Harry slowly and wrapping his arms around his waist. Harry melts into him, leaning into his chest, and Louis rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hello, my love.” Harry mumbles softly.

“You weren’t there when I woke up. I thought you’d left.” Louis says softly. He nips at Harry’s shoulder affectionately.

Harry shakes his head. "I wouldn’t leave. Not again.”

“Mm.”

Harry turns around in his arms to press a kiss to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold, pink like the perfect roses in the garden. Louis looks at him, long and hard. A sudden sense of fear runs through Louis’s veins like the chill of the icy air around them. This could be their last sleepy, just-woken-up cuddly morning together. Both of them could be dead by the time the sun rises tomorrow. Harry seems to notice the way he goes rigid, because he begins to press kisses all over Louis’s face.

“What’s wrong? You’ve thought of something.” Harry looks at him with sad eyes.

“All of our lives could be lost today. The entire kingdom might be taken over by sundown.” Louis says softly.

No,” Harry shakes his head. “You mustn't think like that. The men from the west pale in comparison to our troops. We have over two hundred more men, all of whom are more skilled, more experienced, and more determined. We’ve got the smartest war planner in all of the nations. And the most beautiful prince,”

Louis gives Harry a half-smile and wrinkles his nose. Suddenly there’s a pair of lips folding over his own, and large hands pulling him closer into Harry. It’s slow and sweet, and Louis thinks he could kiss Harry forever. And then there’s a horn going off, and Ryden is peeking in Louis’s bedroom sheepishly.

“My Lord?” He asks, stepping inside.

Louis pushes out of Harry’s arms and steps forward, off the balcony and into his bedroom. “Yes?”

“Your father has requested for all men and women who will be fighting to ready themselves for battle." Ryden says.

"Of course," Louis blinks a few times. "Will you be fighting with us, my friend?"

Ryden looks at Louis like he's just been handed the crown. "Yes, Your Highness. I will be defending you and the king."

"Be careful, will you?" Louis asks. He turns to Harry. "Did you bring armor?"

Harry chuckles. "Of course I did. I was trained as an warrior, I don't forget my armor. It would be like forgetting my shoes."

"Let us go get ready, then."

Louis curls his hand around Harry's wrist and leads him inside, where he begins to get dressed. Harry leaves to get his own armor; he says it's with Gemma. Louis tells Harry he doesn't need to come back, to meet him in the armory. The dyed purple chest piece comes first, over Louis's gray shirt. Once he's got everything else on, Louis fastens his purple cloak around his neck. Regular soldiers wear purple armor and gray cloaks, but Louis and his father wear all purple to represent their status. And then Louis remembers his sisters. As soon as he’s dressed, Louis races down the corridor to Perrie’s room. She’s standing at the window, watching troops make their way to the forest.

“Pez.” Louis says quietly.

Perrie turns to look at Louis, and something flashes in her eyes that’s so melancholy it makes Louis want to cry. She runs across her room towards Louis and throws her arms around him. Louis wraps his arms around her waist and holds her tight. It's close, and it's long, and it's not the perfect hug, but it's all they've got. There are warm tears dripping down the back of Louis's neck, and Perrie's nails are digging into his back where his armor doesn't cover him. He rests his head on her shoulder and rubs her back.

"You could die out there, you know. You understand that, right?" Perrie's voice cracks as she speaks.

Louis nods. "I know, Pez. I know. I’m so glad you’re not going out there as well."

"And you know that I'll have to rule if anything happens to you and my father?"

"Your father?" Louis pales. "Isn't he mine as well?"

He feels Perrie shake her head. "Your father is a man named Troy, Lou. Don't you think I know things?"

"I didn't know you were so clever."

"There's a portrait of him in the hall." Perrie deadpans, and Louis laughs. "Please," Her voice cracks once more. "Please be careful. I cannot bear to lose you."

Louis nods. "I will. Give Mother my love, I have to go see the rest of the kids."

Perrie pulls away and presses a kiss on Louis's cheek. "Of course."

Louis starts for the door.

"And, Louis!" Perrie says. "I love you."

"I love you too, little one."

Louis shuts the door behind him and heads into Charlotte's room. She's reading on her bed, leaning against the headboard. She's still dressed in her pajamas, and that makes Louis smile. Charlotte looks up when Louis comes in, and gives him a smile that breaks his heart.

“Hello, Lottie.” He says quietly, stepping inside.

She closes her book. “Hello, Lou. Where’s your boy?”

Louis cocks his head. “How d’you know he’s back?”

“He introduced himself to me yesterday when you were in the training ring. Harry, is it?” Lottie asks.

“Yes, that’s him. When we’re old enough, he’ll be my king.”

“Each of you will make fine kings.” She smiles.

“My thanks, little one.” Louis puts a hand on her shoulder.

Lottie launches herself into his arms, and Louis holds her close. “Be careful, Lou. Please.”

“I will. I swear it.” Louis says quietly.

“Go, before I cry.” Lottie pushes him away. “ _Go_.”

Louis kisses her forehead and makes his way over to Felicite’s room. She’s asleep still, so Louis leaves her with a kiss on the cheek and scribbles a heart on the parchment on her desk so she knows he’s been there. In the twins’ room, only Phoebe is awake. Louis gives her a hug and tells her he loves them both. His youngest siblings are both awake. Louis coddles Earnest and Doris for a moment, sitting in the rocking chair and singing to them. And then one of the servants comes in to bring them to Johannah, and Louis decides it’s time for him to go.

When he’s finished talking to his siblings, Louis makes his way to the armory to meet Harry.

As he walks outside for a brief moment to reach his destination, Louis is surprised by the sudden cold that rattles his bones. He pulls his hood over his head, and he’s grateful when he gets inside again. Over fifty men are already inside the armory, sliding swords and knives into their sheaths and arrows into their quivers. He finds Harry sitting on one of the crates that’re supposed to go to the kitchens; they’re discussing battle strategies. Curiously, Harry is still wearing his sleeping clothes.

“Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?” Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry as he approaches.

Harry looks up, clearly amused. “My things are with Gemma in Niall’s quarters. She informed me she’ll be bringing my things to me later.”

“Good morning, Louis!” Niall says, sounding entirely too cheery for a day like today.

“Why are you so chirpy this morning?” Louis asks, wrinkling his nose.

Niall frowns. “Is there something wrong with being in a good mood, My Lord?”

“We are almost at war.” Louis gives Niall a half-smile. “Though it is good for you to be positive on such a day.”

Louis looks around and worries at his lip, tearing at the skin with his teeth. Liam and Zayn should be down there any minute, and only then will Louis be at ease. Well, less agitated than before. A hand takes his and begins playing with his fingers, and Louis doesn’t have to look to know that it’s Harry. He looks around at the men in the armory. Not a single one looks as nervous as Louis feels. Don’t they know what could happen to them? Don’t they know they might never return to their families again? And if they do, why aren’t they scared? Is it just Louis? Is he the only one who is worried for his father, for his friends, for his only love? Taking a deep breath, Louis watches as Niall takes out a long, thin dagger and begins to pick at his nails with it.

And then Liam and Zayn are there, each with their hoods up and dressed in their gear. Zayn’s cloak is the traditional gray, but his armor is dyed navy blue to signify him as an archer. He’ll be up in the trees, sending wave after wave of arrows at the western soldiers. Liam is wearing the purple armor and gray cloak; he and Niall are matching (Louis smirks at that).

Louis smiles at them. “Good morning, Zayn. And to you, Liam.”

“Not much good today,” Zayn shrugs. “is there?”

Louis looks at Zayn, long and hard. Zayn looks back at him with a sad smile, and then his hand is on the back of Louis’s neck, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Holding on tight, Louis embraces Zayn like he’s the only thing keeping him on earth. And for a brief moment, he is. It’s him being the first person Louis went to when he found out about his father, it’s him being the one person who made Louis realize it was okay to like other boys, it’s him being the one to bring Louis up when he’s down, it’s him being unquestionably, absolutely, unconditionally, his best friend in all of the nations. They separate, and Louis copies Zayn by putting a hand on his neck. They look at each other for a moment. It’s a short moment, and _oh_ , how Louis _wishes_ for it to be longer, for him to be able to stand here with his best friends, and, for just a short time, not need to think about their possibly impending deaths. Zayn gives Louis an affectionate pat on the cheek and turns to look at Liam. Louis looks around. Soon, he’ll have to go mount his horse and ride to the forest with his father. This could be the last time he sees Zayn before the battle.

“Zayn,” Louis reaches forward and takes ahold of his wrist. “If we-”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head slowly. “We’ll see each other before it starts.”

It’s not enough. “But just in case-”

“Lou.” Zayn gives him a look. “I’ll see you soon.”

Louis watches as Liam and Zayn head outside, towards the throng of soldiers making their way to the forest, where they hope to stop the soldiers from the west before they can attack the city. Turning, Louis sees Harry talking to Gemma by the door. He approaches them slowly, smiling softly at Gemma when he catches her eye. Interestingly, Gemma has on armor that’s been dyed scarlet, and a cloak as white as the clouds in the sky. The hood comes to a point over her head, covering her hair. Louis wonders why her armor is such unusual colors. It’s evident that she’ll be fighting, and now that Louis knows she’s as lethal as Harry, he knows she’ll be a crucial fighter in this battle.

“Harry, what’s going on?” He asks.

“My Lord.” Gemma bows her head.

“Please,” Louis waves a hand. “Don’t bother. I don’t think we’ve formally met yet.”

Gemma’s eyes widen as she realizes it, too. “Well, I am Gemma. Pleasure to meet you, Prince Louis.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well. I am Louis. Please don’t bother with formalities, they irk me.” Louis laughs, but there’s little humor to it.

“And me as well.” Harry agrees. “I must be going, Gemma’s left my armor in Niall’s quarters.” Gemma scoffs and stalks off.

“I’ll find you on the battlefield.” Louis says, and it sounds braver than he feels.

Harry shakes his head. “No. I’ll come find you on your way there.”

“Harry…”

Louis squeaks as he’s pulled into Harry’s chest. He smells like cinnamon and mint, and Louis can feel his thumbs rubbing circles into his back even through his own armor and he just wants to cry. He wants to cry and scream and kick something until it breaks because none of this is fair. It’s not fair that he’s only just gotten Harry back and he could lose him within the hour, it isn’t fair that all these troops have to fight for a king who hardly cares for them, it isn’t fair that the west are attacking now after years of peace. He doesn’t cry, though. He holds Harry tight and tells him he loves him and that he’ll see him soon and he forces himself to look calm and collected. And then he goes off with Ryden to find his horse, Troy.

Louis finds his father just outside the castle, waiting on his own horse with his men. Other troops are herding through the city and to the forest, and Louis hopes his friends are among them. He hops off Troy and approaches him. When Daniel sees Louis, he dismounts and pulls him in for an embrace.

“My boy,” He says quietly, and Louis can see in his eyes that he’s ready for this battle more than anything else.

“Father,” Louis nods at him. “Will we be leaving soon?”

Daniel nods. “Yes, only moments from now.” He says. “Louis, if anything happens to me, I want you to know I have total faith in you as king. You’ll lead us well.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“My Lord,” One of Daniel’s men comes over. “Shall we get moving?”

“And so we shall. Come, Louis.” Daniel climbs on his horse.

Louis mounts Troy and runs a hand up his velvety neck. Daniel canters off, and his men follow, but Ryden stays with Louis. Louis goes after them slowly, hating the way the troops look at them. He feels like he’s being paraded around, shown off to the whole city like some exotic piece of art. All around him men and women are making their way to the battlefield, trudging through the cold air with their weapons on their backs and their fear hidden away. Husbands, wives, and children rush outside, hoping to get one last kiss from their family members before they go off to battle. Louis pulls his hood further over his face and shivers from the cold. Louis spots his friends among the crowd, but Harry isn’t there. Gemma and Niall are talking with Zayn and Liam, but they go quiet when they see him. Louis slows his horse to a walk and approaches them.

“Hello, lads.” Louis dismounts and hands his reins to Ryden.

Niall looks at him curiously. “Where’s Harry?” He asks.

Louis shrugs. “He’ll be here, said he’s checking something."

He looks at Gemma. She’s staring at something curiously. “He’s already here.”

Louis follows Gemma’s gaze, and it’s like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs. On the terracotta roof of the house to their left, stands a boy. He looks like a ghost; wearing a white cloak, red armor, and black clothes underneath it all. The hood is pulled all they way up, but a pair of hunter green eyes can be seen under it. His cloak flaps in the wind, spreading out behind him like a pair of wings. Louis can’t see anything but Harry, like every noise around him is an echo from a ceaseless dream. It’s like he’s stepped into some sort of void, where everything is Harry and nothing else matters. Harry alights to the ground and lands neatly on the balls of his feet.

He pulls his hood down, beauty fervent as a fiery moon. Footsteps approach Louis slowly, and then there's a pair of strong arms wrapping around his waist. Harry's lips meet his, and his simple touch has Louis melting into him. And it doesn't matter that the civilians around them are gaping at the prince kissing another man, Louis doesn't care anymore. He pulls away and presses his forehead to Harry's.

"You should go with your father," Harry whispers.

"Yes," Louis doesn't move. "Harry-" He breaks off.

"You don't have to say anything, my love. I'll find you when it begins." Harry kisses his forehead.

And then he's being lifted onto his horse by two strong hands, and there's a kiss being pressed to one of his own hands and then he's off, following after his father and his men. Louis follows the throng of soldiers heading out of the city and to the forest. When everyone is there, the king and his generals assemble the soldiers in their ranks. Louis watches Zayn scramble up a tree, and catches sight of Niall drawing his sword. He and Troy trot around, but Louis doesn’t bother trying to help set everything up. That would be for the generals and his father. His father’s speech is brief, consisting of a few short words on courage and bravery and determination. And then it’s Louis’s turn. He parks himself at the front of the ranks and addresses his men.

“I can promise this won’t be long, so we can get this whole battle finished and get as many of you as we can home safe. To those of you who have left your husbands, your wives, your families, I sincerely hope that we can get you home to your loved ones.” He gazes out at the soldiers spread out before him, hanging on his every word. Their confidence makes him feel like a proper leader. “Soldiers… today, we’re fighting for our kingdom. But we’ll also be fighting for our homes. For those loved ones you left at home, for the family members who have already left this world. They need us to keep them safe. Are we going to let those Westermen barbarians come here and take our kingdom?!”

“NO!”

“Well then, let us go out there, and let us fight for our kingdom! For our families! For our _homes_!” Louis yells.

The soldiers erupt into battle cries, raising their swords high in the air. Daniel rallies them up a bit more, and then a horn sounds, and he’s rushing into battle on foot, along with hundreds of other men.

Even when he was younger, Louis always took pride in his speed. He was proud of the way he could dart around his opponents, how he could easily best his trainers. He’s a fair shot with throwing knives, as in he could hit somewhere around the bullseye if he needed to, but he’s terrible with a bow. When they were twelve, Zayn tried to teach him, and Louis ended up missing the target entirely and hitting a tree behind it. Louis has always been able to beat Zayn in hand to hand combat (though Zayn can absolutely hold his own). He’s fast and dangerous with a sword, but he’s even quicker with a knife or a dagger. He’ll have darted out and be behind his opponent with a knife to their throat within seconds after their fight’s begun. Though he can end a fight quickly, Louis loves to relish in combat. He loves the adrenaline rush, the sudden bursts of speed he can put on to egg his opponent on just a little longer.

Zayn fights differently. He likes to take a person down one of two ways (Louis delights in both ways as well). One some occasions, Zayn will swipe at someone’s ankles, make them fall, and finish them off right there. On others, Zayn will tease his opponent with a cut on the cheek, one on the wrist, another on the thigh, and more until his enemy is frustrated and distracted. And then he’ll take them down.

Harry, on the other hand, is lethal. He’s fast, and dangerous, and thrilling to watch. There’s a sort of beauty to the way Harry moves during battle: fluid, and seamless, like it’s a choreographed dance. It’s almost hard to keep up with the way he dodges every blow, and sends his own just milliseconds after. Whoever trained him and Gemma trained them well. Louis can hold his own against each of them, he supposes, but eventually he’ll slip up and be beaten.

Now, as he takes down man after man, Louis knows there’s no room for him to slip up. He parries a blow from the beefy man in front of him, then jumps out of the way of his next swing. The soldier jabs at his chest, and he deflects it and slices a gash in his armed hand. The soldier grunts in pain and switches to his other hand. Louis deflects his next blow, but the soldier trips him and he falls to the ground. He barely has time to roll out of the way before the man’s sword pierces the ground where his chest had been just seconds ago. Picking himself up, Louis’s blade clangs with the other soldier’s, and he holds it there as long as he can, reaching with his other hand to grab a knife from his belt.

Before he can, though, he hears a arrow as it whistles through the air; it flies into the soldier’s throat with a thump, and he falls to the ground. Louis looks to his left. There, standing amid the chaos, is Zayn, bow drawn, with a cheek that’s steadily flowing blood down his face. His cloak is stained with blood, and Louis can’t tell if it’s his or someone else’s. Louis gives Zayn a small smile as a thank you and only just has time to dodge a blow from another soldier. Zayn’s there in seconds, bow slung over his shoulder and cloak flying behind him. Louis watches as he jumps on the back of the soldier in front of him, plants his hands on either side of his face, and jerks his head left and right. The soldier collapses into a heap of limbs, and Zayn lands beside him in a crouch. Louis holds a hand out and helps him up.

“Thanks for that one,” He says gratefully.

Zayn smiles at him. “"I have a duty to serve the prince, and the king.” His smile drops from his face. “As did my father."

Louis feels his own smile lessen. He will not live out his life with his best friend’s death in his hands. “Do not take an arrow for me.” He shakes his head, all sense of crude humor gone. “You are not dying for me. Understand?” He asks.

Zayn smiles sadly. “If I must, Louis, I shall.”

“Zayn please. I could not live knowing your death was my fault.” Louis pleads.

“As you wish, my prince.” Zayn bows dramatically, and Louis glares at him.

Louis swings his sword at the soldier approaching him. His blade catches the man’s chest, tearing his torso open. The soldier screams, and Louis drives his sword through his throat. He turns and watches Zayn deflect an arrow with his sword, and, quickly and fluidly, draw his bow, and use the same arrow that almost just pierced his heart to take down a soldier. He sheaths his sword and slings his bow back over his shoulder. Quicker than Louis would’ve been able to do by far, Zayn’s clambering up a tree and beginning to fire arrows at men all around him.

As Louis watches, Zayn chokes on something, and he’s climbing up the tree before a single thought can pass through his head. Before Zayn can drop it, Louis grabs his bow in one hand and puts the other on Zayn’s back and rubs it up and down as he coughs up blood. Zayn sits there panting for a moment before holding a hand out for his bow. Louis places it in his hand, watching as Zayn nods at him in a silent thank you. They’ve always had a way of communicating without words. A simple flick of eyes in the other direction could instruct the other to look that way, and a single wink could get the other in on a joke in seconds.

Louis nods back right away. “Of course.”

Below them, someone cries out. Louis looks down to see another man fall by Liam’s sword. If Liam knows they’re up there, he doesn’t make any effort to show it. Louis and Zayn don’t move as Liam is surrounded by soldiers, and earns himself a gash down his face and one on his arm. Before Louis can think of a plan to help, though, Zayn’s jumping on top of a soldier and snapping his neck. Louis watches for a moment to make sure they’re alright, before leaping to the next tree. He lands on a branch and drops down from there, and finds himself between two Westermen.

Louis pulls his hood down and narrows his eyes, grips the hilt of his sword a little tighter. The soldier in front of him comes first, swinging his mace at Louis’s head. Louis ducks down, only to be grabbed around the middle by the other soldier. The man with the spiked mace comes toward Louis, and he kicks out at him, boots hitting him square in the chest. Still moving, Louis shoves his elbow hard into the man holding him, and wiggles out of his grip. Landing in a crouch, Louis has his sword through the first’s man’s throat before he can make a single move to get up.

He easily dodges the other soldier’s throwing knife as it comes toward him, and slips his own knife out of his belt. Holding it from the blade, Louis draws his arm back and then throws the knife as hard as he can at the soldier. It hits him in the chest, and he goes down without any attempt to keep standing. Louis steps forward and retrieves his knife, slides it back into its sheath.

Then there’s another man on him, armed with a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. He’s tall and muscular, with hair so light it looks white against his black hood. There are lines in his pale face, and Louis thinks he must be at least fifty. But age seems to make no difference, as he comes at Louis with a speed and ferocity so intense Louis can only defend himself for a few moments. The man takes a look at Louis’s clothes, at his expensive cloak and boots, and smiles maliciously.

“You’re the prince.” He says, blocking Louis’s sword with his dagger and resting his own sword on Louis’s cheek.

Louis snarls and pulls away. “What does it matter?”

“I saw you running around with that boy last night.” The man smirks, driving his sword towards Louis’s heart. Louis deflects it. “Harry, is it?”

“Leave him out of this.” Louis growls.

“Oh, but he’s the reason we’re in it.” The man looks at Louis with dark eyes. “Did he tell you about his parents?”

“They were killed.” Louis parries another swing of the man’s sword.

The hooded soldier chuckles. “And do you know why they were killed, young one?” Louis shakes his head slowly. “I did not think you would. Four years ago, your boy’s parents were assigned to travel here, to protect you and your parents. Before they could leave, though, they were killed.”

“Wh- to protect us?” Louis asks slowly.

“They were killed by a single man, part of a group of warriors sworn against his parents’ society of warriors.”

“But…” Louis is confused.

“Can you guess who killed them?”

Louis considers it all. And slowly, it hits him. “You killed his parents… How dare you?!”

According to Louis, there are two types of anger. There is the kind of anger when his eyes will begin to water and his voice will begin to shake and dry sobs will wrack his body. Louis hates that anger the most; it makes him feel weak, like he’s not even in control of his own emotions. The other kind of anger is… angrier. It’s when his face turns to stone and his voice will go sharp and every instinct inside him screams _make them pay for what they’ve done_.

This kind of anger is worse. Louis feels like he could spit fire, kill this man with his bare hands. This man murdered Harry’s mother and father… robbed him of years of happiness with them, disposed of them like a pair of sick dogs that had to be put down. Anger swells through Louis like a tidal wave, coursing through his body in hot waves. He attacks the man before him viciously, foregoing any sense of form or grace. Blow after blow, he tries as hard as he can to injure the man in front of him. The strange soldier laughs, dodging his attacks easily.

It’s not until the man speaks again that Louis slips up, does the one thing he knows he should never do.

“First I’ll kill the prince, and then king, and then, after he’s watched his lover and his king die by my sword, I’ll kill that Harry boy and his sister.”

Louis snarls and attacks again, bringing his sword above his head to slam it down on the soldier’s. Before he can lower the blade, though, a knife leaves the assassin’s left hand and pierces Louis’s side- in one of the only spots on his torso that his armor doesn't cover- and embeds itself between two of Louis’s ribs.

 

When Louis was thirteen, he was messing about with Zayn on the docks when he slipped and fell, hit his head. He was so drowsy as he slipped under the water that he couldn’t even try to swim up. He didn’t inhale any water until just before he blacked out. It was like no matter how much he was panicking underneath the sleepiness and pain, the instinct for him not to let any water in was so strong that he didn’t open his mouth until he felt like his head would implode. And when he gave in, when he finally inhaled the saltwater, it stopped hurting, and everything went black. The pain in his head and his lungs subsided. He woke up a day later in the hospital wing.

When he was sixteen, Louis fell out of a tree and broke his arm. His arm felt like it had been seared with hot coals over and over. The pain was so intense, so demanding of his attention, that he blacked out.

 

Now, he feels nothing.

Louis feels himself choke on air and drops his sword, hands moving to cover his side like they’ll stop the blood from pouring out.

And then the pain hits.

At first, it’s pain Louis has felt before, a pulsing hurt just in his side. He felt the same when he almost drowned, and even when he broke his arm.

And then it’s everywhere, running through Louis’s veins like molten hot liquid metal, coursing through every inch of him. He chokes on blood when he tries to inhale, falls to his knees and coughs it up. The soldier in front of him laughs, and kicks him hard so he topples over.

Louis can do nothing but watch and try to get air through his lungs as the man stalks off to find Harry.

∆

When Harry returned from King's Landing after his parents were buried, he and Gemma were made to begin their training right away. Harry didn’t understand why he and his sister had to learn to defend themselves as well. As he got older, though, it became clear. The group who killed their parents were a legion of warriors trying to take over the nations and rule in in unjust, unfair society. Harry’s parents had been part of the group of warriors trying to stop them. Neither groups have a name, only their fighting styles and different cloaks and armor define them. Unlike the Faceless Men, though, Harry's group keeps the face they've always had.

Their first year of training was the worst; they had to learn discipline, strength, and focus. The first half of the year was mental training. Harry, Gemma, their mentor Kyllan, and four other "students" spent days in the freezing cold, meditating until their lips turned blue, learning to control their own emotions and turn their faces into blank masks, void of any feeling. The second half of the year was physical training. Days were spent filled with sparring, push-ups, running as far as they could until they just about collapsed from exhaustion.

From then on, the days were simple. They were woken by Kyllan at sunrise every day, and they’d get dressed and eat breakfast. After that, he, Gemma, Paul, and the four other trainees would sit on the stones by the river and meditate until their training began for the day. Harry and Gemma would spar with Paul, and occasionally the other four boys who trained with them, and every day they learned new techniques and strategies. Harry found swordfighting to be his strength, and crafted his own out of black Valyrian steel when he was eighteen- two years into his training. He also discovered he’s a fair shot with throwing knives and a crossbow. Gemma’s strong suit turned out to be using a long, thin, deadly sharp dagger called a stiletto; Harry’s got quite a few scars from sparring with Gemma while she used it. The youngest boy in their training group, Luke, who was only fourteen when they began, found himself to be lethal with a tomahawk in his hands. Michael, the quietest and the one Harry grew closest to, fought with a sword much like his own, but with a basket-shaped guard that protects the hand. The third boy, Calum, used a contraption much like a dagger, but hidden underneath a layer of leather on the bracers on his wrists. There was a ring around Calum’s middle finger attached to the blade, so that every time he drew his hand back, the blade slid out. Calum called them hidden blades. The oldest boy, of the same age as Harry, called Ashton, fought with a broadsword of blue Valyrian steel.

When Harry was informed of the incoming battle, he sent for the four boys’ help right away. Hopefully they’d bring more of their kind, but Harry has to hope they’ll win this war even if his friends don’t show up. They should’ve arrived in King's Landing last night, but he supposes they might’ve been stopped and killed by the Westermen.

As he looks up after slicing another soldier’s neck, though, Harry sees differently.

At least a dozen men and women in white cloaks and red armor are leaping soundlessly (it’s possible that Harry just doesn’t hear them because of the ongoing battle around him) through the trees. One by one, they all draw bows or throwing knives or crossbows and begin firing. After one round, though, the Westermen begin to fire back, and Harry’s comrades drop to the ground and engage in combat.

As Harry looks around, he spots a man stalking towards him amid the chaos, a crazed look on his pale face. His hair is so light it’s almost white, and his dark cloak makes it look garishly white. In one hand, he holds a sword, and in the other, a dagger.

The man charges at him with his blade upheld, going to his foreswing and following it with a backswing. Harry dodges the first and meets the second with his sword. The weight of the thing sends the man’s blade back, back, back…but not far enough to knock the blade free of his hands.

Harry pulls his sword back, and the man in front of him smirks. “Harry, Harry, Harry…”

“How d’you know my name?” Harry’s voice sounds rough and scratchy.

The soldier doesn’t answer, only swinging at his chest once more. Harry jumps backwards and avoids the blade by mere centimeters. “How’re your parents doing, my boy? Are they well?”

Harry narrows his eyes and looks at the man. And then he remembers. The warriors who killed his parents wore cloaks black as ash. He remembers being told to be wary of a man with salt-white hair, and eyes dark and deep as night. He doesn’t remember his name, only the stories he’s heard. Kyllan always said none of them were true, that this man started the rumors himself to seem a more fearsome opponent, but Harry’s never been sure of what he thinks of the tales.

One thing is for certain in all of the stories Harry’s heard, though: this man doesn’t slip up. He attacks Harry as quick as lightning, swinging his sword at him again and again. His blade catches Harry’s unarmed hand and tears at his palm; it’s not deep but it stings sharply. Harry clenches his hand in a fist and grits his teeth, keeps fighting because he has no other choice.

“Did you get to your lover yet? Did you exchange romantics as he breathed his dying breath?” The man asks, smirking once more.

Harry falters in his parrying, and that earns him a shallow slice on the thigh. “ _What did you do to him_?” He hisses, and it sounds like some unearthly creature has sprung forth from Harry’s chest and spoken the words, and not himself.

“Oh, no.” The white-haired man frowns, but there’s little sympathy to it. “A shame you won’t get to see him.”

“What did you do?” Harry asks again.

“I’m afraid your prince will never be crowned king, if that is what you’re asking.”

And that’s when Harry snaps.

He swings his sword again and again. It takes all of his training to force his anger back and keep his composure, but inside it’s eating him alive. Harry watches the man carefully, waiting for something, anything that he can use to his advantage. After a while, he sees it.

It’s subtle, carefully hidden after years of battle, but it’s definitely there. A misstep, a small one, with his left leg. Every time he swings at Harry, he has to overcompensate with his right leg to mask his limp. Maybe it was stabbed, maybe broken when he was young, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all Harry’s got.

He swings at the man again, but he meets Harry’s sword with his, pushes back hard in an attempt to get Harry to drop his. For a moment they’re stuck at a stalemate, but then the man swings at Harry with his dagger. It catches his armor and leaves a scratch, but it doesn’t pierce through. Harry watches for the misstep, and uses it as a diversion to pull away and get back into a proper stance.

The next time the man swings, Harry dodges it and waits for his misstep. When it comes, Harry slices at the man’s knee; blade meets bone and he keeps going, until he cleaves through the leg completely. The agonized scream that falls forward from the man’s mouth would almost make Harry pity him, if he weren’t such a loathsome being.

He falls to the ground, and Harry shoves his blade through his jugular, ending his life.

 _Louis_.

Harry searches around frantically, before he realizes there’s no chance he’ll spot Louis among all this chaos. He scales the nearest tree, planting himself on a steady branch to look around. It physically hurts him to see Louis sprawled out on the ground a few hundred feet away, with one bloody hand pressed to his side and the other curled weakly around the hilt of his sword. As he watches, Louis drops the sword, and his head goes slack and hits the ground below him.

∆

There’s a million things running through his mind when Zayn drops to the floor next to Liam, but being yelled at isn’t one of them.

“What’re you doing here?!” Liam yells, barely managing to parrie a soldier’s mace.

Zayn doesn’t answer at first, only climbs off the soldier whose neck he’s just broken and goes for the next. When he’s stabbed him in the heart, he risks taking a glance at Liam. The gash on his face is shallow, but deep enough to leave a scar. By the looks of it, Liam’s lucky he didn’t lose an eye. the sword missed his left eye by a centimeter.

“I couldn’t let you do this on your own, could I?” He asks, dodging a blow from the man in front of him.

Liam makes an angry sound. “This isn’t safe. Something could happen to you.”

“Something being dying, you mean?” Zayn snaps. “My apologies, I came to ensure that you didn’t die, Liam.”

Just as Liam’s about to say something back, two men dressed in white cloaks like Harry’s drop to the forest floor by their sides. The first, a tall boy with dark hair and dark eyes attacks a man with blades that appear to come forth from his armor. They pierce through his chest and kill him only seconds after they’ve entered. The second boy, with bright eyes and floppy, sandy hair, holds in his hand a broadsword of blue steel.

Liam and Zayn watch for just a moment, before resuming their own fights. It only takes a few minutes for the entire group of men who had just surrounded them to be lying on the ground, their blood turning the snow a blackish-red. Zayn looks over at the boys who presumably just saved their lives, and holds his hand out. The taller boy grasps it tightly.

“Who are you?” Zayn asks.

“Friends of Harry’s.” The other boy says.

He puts a hand on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder and leads him away, and Zayn and Liam are left standing alone amid the battle.

And then Zayn heard the cry.

At first, he thinks he must’ve heard wrong, because, no, it cannot be.

But slowly, more and more men begin to say the same four words.

“ _The king is dead_!”

Time seems to slow down for Zayn; he makes his way towards the first voice he heard saying it, taking down man after man in a daze.

He finds Daniel with his head in Niall’s lap, his face a pale show of agony. Tears are tracing down Niall’s face; Zayn drops to his knees by Daniel’s side, taking his hand. Daniel squeezes his hand back weakly.

“My king…” Zayn says quietly. He won’t cry. Zayn hasn’t cried since his father was killed, and he doesn’t plan to do it soon.

“My boy…” Daniel murmurs.

“Louis, of course, tell me what you want Louis to know.” Zayn says quickly.

The king shakes his head slowly. “You, too, are my boy…” He grunts, and Zayn looks down, places his other hand over Daniel’s wound, a deep gash over his heart. “Tell Louis… I’m proud of him… no matter whose son he is… and no matter who he loves.”

Has Daniel known all along? How long has he known Louis isn’t his son? Or that he likes other boys? Has he just been observant and Zayn hadn’t noticed?

Daniel is growing paler by the second. His eyes are staring at something Zayn’s sure isn't there, and his hand grows slacker with every passing breath.

“Tell him… I love him… and- to always…”

The king’s hand slips out of Zayn’s grasp, and his eyes fade to gray. Zayn takes a deep breath, raises a bloodied hand to close his eyes. He closes his own eyes, and says his own goodbye to the king in silence. Niall’s body is racked with sobs; Zayn physically has to pull him away from the king’s lifeless form.

He brings Niall over to a fallen oak, sits him on the trunk and holds him close. After a while, Zayn leaves Niall with one of the king's men and returns to battle.

The sun has begun to dip below the horizon, but the snow still hasn't let up. The soldiers in the white and red tear through western soldiers, taking them down like it's as easy as breathing. After another hour or so of fighting, the Westermen retreat, accepting their defeat. A victory cry rises out of Zayn's throat, followed by the remaining soldiers from King's Landing. It rises to a roar within seconds, and Zayn is sure it can be heard from the city.

They've done it. They've beaten them. They lost their king on the way, but it's better to lose a king than a kingdom, Zayn supposes. He's relieved that they have Louis to rule. _He'll be a great king_ , Zayn thinks as he makes his way to find him, pulling his hood up once more.

∆

There's a hand on Harry's shoulder, and he looks back to see Michael, cloaked in white, sword in hand.

"My friend," Michael helps him up. "What troubles you?"

Harry pats his shoulder and looks over at Louis, sprawled out on the forest floor. "My love. I fear he's gone."

"How long has he been out?" Michael asks quickly. He jumps to the ground, and Harry follows.

"Seconds." Harry says.

Michael heads straight for Louis, and neither of them bother to take down any Westermen on the way. Following in a daze, Harry barely registers the pain in his hand or his thigh, or the sharp sting of the cold air. They reach Louis quickly, and, even in the waning sunlight, that Louis is losing too much blood.

He drops to his knees by Louis’s side and holds back tears as he picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other on his back. Standing slowly, Harry looks over at Michael.

“Help me,” He pleads.

Michael looks toward the city. “Is there someone there who can heal him?” He asks.

“There are plenty of healers in the castle,” Harry nods. “Just help me get him out of here, and I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Michael shakes his head, puts his fingers to his lips, and whistles, long and low. Not even a minute later, a tall boy with light hair and bright eyes drops to the forest floor. It’s Luke, the youngest of the students he trained with. During their training, Luke was the most carefree of them all, he was always laughing and messing about. Now, he looks focused and aware. He zeroes in on Louis, lying limp in Harry’s arms.

“What d’you need?” He asks Harry quickly.

Michael answers for him. “You and I need to defend him, help get them both out of here.” He explains.

“Right. We need to go now, then.” Luke says, drawing his tomahawk.

Harry brings Louis closer to his chest and follows Michael and Luke as they lead him towards the castle. It’s fascinating to watch them fight; the way they move, flowing and method, is mesmerizing. He wonders if it’s this way when he’s in battle, if Louis was being truthful when he said he could watch him spar for hours. The two of them hack through man after man, clearing a safe path for harry and Louis. Louis hadn’t yet pulled out the knife when Harry found him, and Harry knows it hurts more that way but it’s keeping a lot of blood in.

It hurts Harry to see him this way. And even worse, if he’d stayed with Louis during the battle the entire thing could’ve been avoided. Harry could’ve killed the white-haired man and had it over with. It's entirely his fault. If he hadn't been so determined to end the battle as quick as he could, he could've saved Louis. And now, this boy is bleeding out in his arms, half-dead because Harry wanted to be the hero.

They reach the city just as the Westermen begin to retreat. A victory cry rings out, and the other soldiers follow. It raises to a fearsome roar that rings in Harry's ears long after it ends. Michael and Luke take him into the castle, where a servant leads them to the hospital wing. The nurse on duty has Harry lay Louis on a cot. As soon as he's put Louis down, Harry collapses on the cot beside him.

"I'll have to stitch it up," She says, bustling around, retrieving different tools along the way. "If one of you could place your hands on either side of the wound, and I'll pull out the knife."

Harry doesn't see which of his comrades helps the nurse, but he hears the wet, sliding sound of the nurse pulling the blade out of Louis’s side. He looks up at the ceiling. The entire room is white marble, and there are four different stained-glass windows on the walls. There are quite a few other injured soldiers in the cots surrounding them, and more are coming in now that the battle’s over. Harry gets off the cot to let an injured soldier rest on it.

The nurse begins to clean Louis’s side, and Harry crouches by his bed, cards his fingers through Louis’s sweaty hair. His face twitches a bit, and it makes Harry want to push the nurse out of the way and do it himself. When the nurse picks up the needle, Michael pulls Harry into the corridor and starts talking in a hushed voice.

"Weren't you supposed to defend him? Isn't that why you came back?" Michael hisses.

Harry sighs. "I know, I know. I should've been with him the whole battle, but none of you had arrived yet, and I supposed if I could dispose of as many westerners in as little time as possible-"

"You thought you could win a war yourself?" Michael raises an eyebrow.

"Please, let us discuss something else." Harry pleads.

"Alright," Michael nods. "Did you see who hurt the prince?"

Harry nods. "The man who killed my parents."

"D- did you kill him?" Michael asks, clearly surprised.

"Yes. He's dead."

"Harry!" Someone calls.

Harry looks down the corridor. Zayn is running towards him, face bloodied and bruised, looking distressed.

"Is Louis alright? Is he- the king- he was killed, and-"

Michael cuts Zayn off. "The king is what?"

"Who's this?" Zayn asks quickly, glancing at Harry.

"You can trust him, if that's what you mean." Harry says.

Zayn nods. "The king was killed by a soldier." He says bluntly.

Considering this, Harry pokes his head back into the infirmary. The nurse has just begun stitching up his side, but he's still pale and motionless. Luke is sitting in the chair beside him. Liam and Niall are making their way down the corridor now, along with Calum and Ashton. Calum and Ashton seem to have made out with little to no injuries, but Liam has a gash across his face and Niall's shoulder has been torn open. Calum and Ashton lead them into the infirmary, then come back out a moment later.

It's hard for Harry to listen to the voices swimming around in his hearing, they sound distant, like echoes.

"No matter who killed Daniel, Louis is king now."

∆

Everything hurts.

Every inch, every fibre of Louis's being aches. There's a sharp pain in his side, persistent and demanding, so intense it makes him want to go right back to sleep. He can feel the bandage wrapped around his torso, and the rough blanket draped over his legs. From the unfamiliar firmness of the mattress beneath him, it's clear to Louis that this isn't his bed. And when he opens his eyes, it's not the ceiling in his room. It's the white marble ceiling of the infirmary. Louis moves a hand to touch his side. Waves of nausea cascade through his body, and Louis thinks he might throw up. When he’s calmed down, Louis sits up (which hurts immensely, by the way).

Slowly, very slowly, Louis looks around. Harry is sitting in one of the chairs to his left, and a nurse is pouring him a glass of water on his right. Four boys Louis has never seen before are deep in conversation with Gemma a few feet away. All six of what Louis assumes are his visitors are wearing the same bright white cloak and scarlet armor, and each of their cloaks are stained with blood. Louis vaguely remembers seeing others in the white cloaks before he blacked out.

Across the infirmary, Zayn is sitting next to Liam on a cot; both of them are having gashes on their faces cleaned. Zayn’s is small, just a slice on the cheek. Liam’s, though, Liam’s is bad. It starts at his left eyebrow, barely misses his eye, and goes all the way down to his mouth. He turns to Harry.

When Louis looks at him, Harry’s eyes light up like he's just seen the sun for the first time. He grins ear to ear.

“He’s waking up, c’mere.” Harry calls. Gemma and the four boys make their way over.

"Hello, Harry." Louis's voice is rough from sleeping.

"Darling." Harry stands up to press a kiss to Louis's forehead. "How d'you feel?"

Louis thinks about it. "Quite shitty, if I'm honest. My head aches and my side feels awful." Harry kisses his fingers.

"Louis," Harry says, suddenly serious.

"Yes?"

"Your father... “

“He’s been killed.” The dark-haired boy says bluntly.

It's like all of the air has been sucked out of Louis's lungs.

“I’m so sorry.” One of the other boys, with sandy hair and bright green eyes, adds.

"He said he loves you no matter whose son you are, and no matter who you love.” Harry says softly, and he grips Louis’s hand tightly.

He knew? How did Daniel know Louis wasn’t his son? And, more importantly, how did he know Louis fancies boys? But, if Daniel is dead, that means-

“If he’s dead… am I king?” Louis asks slowly.

Harry stands, and, slowly, as if it was planned out, Harry, Gemma, and all four boys bow to him regally. And then, as they notice, the other soldiers and nurses bow to him as well. Soon, every man and woman in the infirmary is bent over praising him (injured soldiers are bowing their heads).

“We're glad you're alright, Your Highness.”

 

**Epilogue**

 

Every flower in the kingdom seems to have bloomed for Louis’s wedding day.

It’s a beautiful day, perfect for a celebration such as the one about to occur. In the courtyard, hundreds of flower arrangements have been set up around the monstrous amounts of food and drinks. All of King's Landing is already beginning to celebrate, and the ceremony hasn't even started yet. Citizens (or maybe just Niall) had hung brightly colored streamers all throughout the city, and children could be seen running through the streets, laughing and playing games. Servants (who are being paid much better wages, thank you very much) bustle in and out of the kitchens, carrying food ranging from roasted pig to arugula salads to Louis’s favorite raspberry tarts.

Johannah has been fretting over every little thing since she woke up, constantly going to fix some minor detail that never really needed fixing. Louis rolls his eyes as his mother straightens his royal blue sash for what seems like the hundredth time.

“Mother, please.” Louis groans. “I’m sure our darling Harry won’t mind if my sash isn’t perfect.”

Johannah makes a face. “Louis, my sweet boy, you promised me I could arrange this wedding, and I cannot make it perfect if you won’t let me.”

“She’s right, you look terrible.”

Louis looks back. Zayn is leaning against the doorway, dressed in the same linen shirt and black trousers, but his sash is saffron, not blue. For the last month, Zayn has been vacationing on Fair Isle with Liam. His skin is even more tanned than it was before, and there’s a glow about him that Louis can’t put his finger on. Louis hopes they had fun, but, to be completely truthful, he wasn’t very focused on Liam and Zayn’s escapades. He was much more interested in his and Harry’s. Stepping forward, Louis pulls Zayn into a tight embrace.

“I thought you were going to miss it.” He confesses into Zayn’s ear.

Zayn scoffs. “Miss my best friend’s wedding day? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Thank you, then.” Louis says. “For returning.”

Zayn pulls away, and strides over to Johannah. He bows, and then embraces her, too. Johannah kisses him on the cheek. “My Lady, how have you fared during my absence?”

“Oh, Zayn,” Johannah laughs. “I could not bear your leave any longer. Tis a miracle you returned today, else I would have died of woe.”

“As would I.” Zayn grins at her.

“Can you aid my son in straightening that sash? No matter how hard I try, he refuses to let me help.”

“Of course, Milady.” Zayn nods, stepping forward to fix Louis’s sash.

When Johannah leaves, Zayn’s hands drop from Louis’s sash and he runs one through his hair. Though Louis was expecting a long and meaningful speech from Zayn, he can’t say he’s disappointed that he won’t be getting one. The two of them sit in silence, sipping wine and munching on the complementary grapes that were left for them.

At noon, Zayn and Louis are called to take their spots on the altar, just in front of the Iron throne. Zayn takes his spot a few steps behind Louis, and stands with his hands clasped behind his back. Louis mimics him. In the hall, hundreds of guests are seated in the chairs on either side of the aisle. All of them look around the hall, in awe of its size and decorum. Roses have been placed everywhere the eye can see: weaved through the throne, deliberately lain about the aisle, fastened to the chairs, and Louis even spots a few stuck to the arches on the ceiling. Rydan, Louis’s most trusted servant, stands off to the side, carefully holding a cushion that bears the two crowns.

The huge oak doors open, and in come Daisy and Phoebe, each wearing soft blue dresses. They carry a basket of rose petals with them, and Louis knows they’re supposed to toss them on the aisle as they walk down, but it seems like they’re too nervous. The crowd just finds it all the more endearing, and the smiles on Phoebe and Daisy’s faces could keep Louis smiling for years. Lottie and Felicite come in next. Felicite looks radiant in her soft yellow wrap dress, and Charlotte is a vision in a dress the color of the sky. Perrie enters last, dangerously beautiful in a flowing, navy blue dress that makes her eyes look electric. Louis looks around. Earnest and Doris are in his mother’s arms; they're sitting in the front row of chairs. The girls take their spots on the altar.

And then Harry comes in.

He actually takes Louis’s breath away.

He’s so, _so_ beautiful, looking like an angel in disguise as he walks towards Louis. Though he’s dressed in the same linen shirt as Louis, his trousers are dark brown and his sash looks like it’s been spun from pure gold. The light that filters through the windows shines on Harry in such a way that it makes him look ethereal. He seems to float towards the altar, footsteps completely silent on the marble floors. From the beautifully crafted diadem of roses resting on his hair and the enchanted look on his face, it would be easy to mistake Harry for delicate. But Louis has seen him in combat, knows how ruthless he can be, and he has to wonder: how can something so beautiful be so deadly?

Harry steps up on the altar, and the High Septon takes his and Louis’s hands and links them together. Louis looks at Harry through his eyelashes and smiles softly. He feels Harry’s thumb begin to trace circles on the back of his hand.

“Your Grace, Your Grace, my lords, my ladies,” The priest begins. “You stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of our king, and our soon-to-be king.” Louis chews on his lip in anticipation, waiting for the words that will bring he and Harry together forever. “One flesh, one heart, one soul... now and forever!” The priest Looks at Louis. “If each of you would speak your vows?”

Louis looks at Harry, and the two of them begin to speak.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, King, Lord, Soldier, Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

“The crowns, if you would?” The priest looks at Rydan, who hastily steps forth with his cushion. He picks up Louis’s first, pure gold with sapphires inlaid on the delicately carved branches. Louis’s breath catches in his throat as it’s placed on his head. Across from him, Louis spots a tear escape down Harry’s face, and he feels his own eyes begin to water. No. He will not cry. But something about the way Harry’s looking at him makes his heart want to burst, makes him want to shout his love for this boy from the highest mountains in the land.

“King Louis of House Tomlinson, leader of the Seven Kingdoms,” The priest breaks off, taking Harry’s crown off the cushion and replacing it with his diadem. Harry’s crown is gold as well, with beautifully detailed leaves that stem out from its base. He places it on Harry’s head, and Louis is definitely crying now, sniffling a few times before the priest can say his last words, and Louis feels like he’s going to rupture at the seams, and he can barely hold back the huge smile that’s creeping onto his face, because this is happening and Harry is finally going to be his _king_ -

“And King Harry of House Styles, I, with all power vested in me by the high priest before me, pronounce the two of you, Kings of the Seven Kingdoms.”

And then they’re kissing, and it’s really happening after all this time, and it feels magical, and Harry’s hands are only around his waist but he’s everywhere at once and it’s so surreal that Louis feels like it could be a dream. He can taste the wine on Harry’s tongue, and suddenly he’s taken back to all those years ago, on the night Harry had to leave him. But now they’re married, they’re _kings_.

Before they can attend the feast, though, Harry and Louis must go to the balcony on the fourth floor and address the crowd of citizens below. Louis says a few words, and then Harry says a few words, and then they kiss again, just because they can. It’s slow and sensual and Louis can’t get over the fact that it's _happening_ , and the crowd is roaring below them but all Louis can hear is the roaring of the blood in his ears, the steady sound of Harry’s breathing, and he knows there’s nowhere he'd rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed !!! im on tumblr [here](http://harryindallas.tumblr.com/) !!!


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